


of antiquities and babysitting (an exploration of pride)

by stilahey



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Babysitting, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Background Simon Lewis/Jace Wayland, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, mild homophobia and biphobia in later chapters, various other characters make brief appearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilahey/pseuds/stilahey
Summary: “I’m not that great at making friends,” he shrugs, “or socialising in general, really.”He receives a small laugh in return, almost like a quick exhale of breath and nothing more, and then Magnus waves a hand casually. Alec watches him change his seating position, turning slightly and pulling both his legs up onto the couch to sit cross-legged; he doesn’t look down at where Magnus’ knee brushes against his thigh.“You could have fooled me. You’re doing an excellent job,” he looks over at Madzie and smiles, “Sweet Pea is fairly shy too, but she seems toclickwith you."(or, the one where alec is madzie's babysitter; an excruciatingly-slow study of friendship, family, and the intricacies of falling in love.)





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm writing shadowhunters fic in 2019. do i have rights? no. certainly not for the fact that this is my first adventure into writing fic for this series and i decided to write something slow burn and chaptered and _long_. i'm sorry (this'll update once a week!!) also alec is autistic in this and that's not like plot-relevant but yknow.. it's happening baby
> 
> i'll be sure to trigger warn for the specific instances of homophobia and biphobia in the chapters in which they arise!! it won't be for a very long time yet but i still wanted to tag it and forewarn anyone who's sensitive to that (it's only mild, but still. better safe than sorry) <3
> 
> hope u enjoy! let me know what u think <3

Alec doesn’t quite know how he’s found himself in his current situation.

Actually, that’s a _lie_ , because Alec tends to be _acutely_ aware of all the ins-and-outs and the specific circumstances that lead him to almost every situation in his life; to say he doesn’t know _how_ he’s found himself in this situation would be incorrect. The better phrasing, perhaps, would be to say that he doesn’t _understand_ how he’s gotten himself into his current situation.

It’s not like it’s even a huge situation, really. Alec has definitely been in worse places at worse times. Whenever Jace and Izzy are around—an oxymoron, given that Jace is _permanently_ around—Alec often finds himself in a _plethora_ of weird situations; situations that he knows he wouldn’t willingly find himself taking part in if he was alone. He’s previously joked that the two of them are a bad influence on him, to which Izzy pointed out that it’s _impossible_ because he’s the oldest, and Jace reminded him that it’s his own stubbornness and refusal to backdown that led to a trip to the ER that one time— _several_ times, actually.

Despite how much he outwardly protests to it, Alec supposes he _does_ enjoy it sometimes. Being able to let go and have a little fun can be a much-needed change of pace for him, even when he doesn’t quite agree on their ideas of _“fun”_. Specifically, he’s _still_ adjusting to Izzy’s nights out; she loves to party, to dress up and go out and _stay out_ until the early hours of the morning, sometimes not even sleeping at all; Alec can’t figure out how she does it.

It’s a given, considering she hardly ever gets any free time—being a med student and all—that she _does_ spend her free time taking advantage of it. Alec doesn’t exactly agree with it sometimes, thinking that it’d be wiser and _safer_ for her to actually get some rest once in a while, but he _understands_ , and he spends far too much of his _own_ free time being dragged along to nightclubs that he’d rather not be at. He only ever goes because she wants him to— the crowds of people and the loud music is obviously _not_ his go-to atmosphere.

Jace, _however_ , is a strangely mixed bag of interests, because he _does_ enjoy partying, going out and exploring, venturing around the city at night while listening to music _far_ too loudly on his shitty car stereo; he also likes to stay inside sometimes, curling up on the couch with a new book, or marathoning an old TV show that he insists Alec has to watch with him— which he _does_ , _of course_ , because any show they watch can be instantly improved with the two of them throwing out some _scathing_ live commentary.

When he was younger, growing up in the Lightwood family meant that Alec certainly had no idea of what “ _fun_ ” was, or what it even meant. All he’s ever known is that he’s the eldest son of two _incredibly_ respectable lawyers, that he has to be responsible, that he has to uphold the family name and be a _role model_ to his siblings; while the age-gaps aren’t that far off, Jace being only a year younger than him, Izzy three, and Max… well, _sure_ , Max is eleven years younger; the point still stands that for the majority of his life, Alec has had to behave “ _appropriately_ ”— something his parents had drilled into him again and again and _again_ , time after time, and something that has still stuck with him to this very day.

He now shares an apartment with Jace in the middle of Brooklyn, while his parents continue to live in Manhattan and hardly ever talk to him, because needless to say, things didn’t exactly go according to plan; his _parents_ plan, not his. Alec has never had a plan for life. He’s not really sure if he’s _supposed_ to have one.

Since moving to his current place, only a short year ago, he likes to think that he’s _grown_ in some ways, and Alec is slowly conquering the task of rediscovering himself; rediscovering the childhood and teenage years he never quite had thanks to the _endless_ dedication to nothing but his education, rediscovering his hobbies and interests and the meaning of fun, rediscovering the things he likes and the things he doesn’t.

This task, _obviously_ , includes hour-long _nerf_ wars spanning the area of his entire apartment—it’s a small apartment—and brief endeavours into altering his appearance— no one _dares_ talk about that incredibly short phase of his life, for fear of a mysterious and unexplained death, and the only remnant that remains is the single small stud currently sitting in his right ear.

This task of rediscovery also includes being a real adult, because despite the brief moments of fun, he _is_ 24 years old and he can’t change that. Being a responsible person is ingrained into his entire being and needing to provide a comfortable life for Jace and himself—a place to live, food, heating and water, _wi-fi_ —is just part of his nature at this point. Being a responsible person who can provide all these things also relies on him being _financially_ stable, a task that would be easier if he wasn’t miserably stuck in between jobs at the moment.

Which is how he ended up _here_ , sitting in the lounge of his apartment, his phone balanced precariously on his thigh as he stares down at the screen, and the unknown number he’d typed in staring back at him as if it was _daring_ him to hit call already.

For once, only this _once_ , Alec will admit that unlike every other vaguely uncomfortable situation he’s found himself in… this one’s actually not entirely Jace or Izzy’s fault. Astonishingly enough, the source of his problem—if he can call it a “ _problem_ ”—happens to be _Clary_ , and subsequently a _small_ amount of blame can also be placed on Izzy and Jace for being the reason that Alec is even acquaintances with Clary Fray in the first place.

His nerves start to quickly take a hold of him, the all-too-common feeling of anxiety thrumming under his skin, and the slight shake of his hands holding him back from the _simple_ task of hitting that big green button on his phone screen. Izzy gently lays a hand on his forearm and gives a slight squeeze, comforting and reassuring, and Alec is instantly glad for her company despite the fact that she doesn’t even _live_ here; as soon as she gets an inkling of free time away from school, she hops on the subway and immediately winds up outside Alec’s apartment.

(It helps that she’s dating Clary now— it gives her another reason to visit more frequently, and Alec is thankful for that.)

He takes a steadying, deep breath, before pressing call and hurrying to hold his phone up to his ear. He starts to chew on his bottom lip, anxiety building as the dial tone hums, and then it finally starts to ring.

Once. _Twice_.

Jace gives him a goofy thumbs-up from across the table, and Alec only glares back in return, kicking his leg out a little further so he can nudge Jace’s shin in a vain attempt of getting him to stop stupid pulling faces—

“Hello?”

Alec freezes. Jace takes the hint and instantly stops fooling around, sitting up straight with a look of what Alec can only assume is anticipation.

“Uh, hi,” Alec mentally kicks himself for his awkwardness, a _fantastic_ start, “is this Mr. Bane?”

He grimaces at his word choice. He also seems to _visibly_ cringe, because Jace immediately smirks and mouths a silent and mocking “ _Mr. Bane?_ ” back at him.

Surprisingly enough, there’s a _laugh_ on the other end of the line, deep and rumbling, followed by an amused hum.

“I suppose it is, though most people just call me Magnus.” He— _Magnus_ says. “And who might I be speaking to?”

His voice is oddly soothing, a soft lilt to his entertained tone, and Alec finds himself distracted for a brief second. Izzy stifles a laugh, hand barely covering her mouth as she _obviously_ listens in, and it’s all the incentive Alec needed to snap himself out of his daze.

He quickly pushes himself up off the sofa to start heading out of the lounge, ignoring the whines of his siblings _loudly_ calling after him, the annoying echo of “ _big brother! Come back!”_ following him through the hall as he ventures into the kitchen.

“Right, sorry,” he closes the door behind himself and settles against the nearest counter, “I’m Alec Lightwood, I think Clary Fray might have mentioned me? About the—”

“Ah!” Magnus interrupts, “Of course, _Mr. Lightwood_ , how could I forget? Why, _silly_ me.”

Alec flounders a little at the way Magnus had called him Mr. Lightwood, but he supposes it’s only _fair_ , an equally professional exchange after he’d embarrassingly called him _Mr. Bane_ earlier.

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, and chalks the feeling down to simply being caught off-guard. After all, it’s not _every day_ someone refers to him by his surname alone, no less with a “ _mister”_ tacked onto the beginning. He taps his fingers against the cold surface of the countertop as Magnus continues talking.

“Clarissa told me that you’re interested in babysitting for me, and I can only assume you’re calling to confirm that?”

“Yes,” Alec lets out a small huff of air, “I don’t have any _professional_ experience, but—”

“Oh, nonsense! Biscuit has told me enough about you to already put you in my good books, don’t you worry.”

Alec’s glad that Magnus had cut him off before he could end up accidentally _oversharing_ , the remainder of his previous sentence quickly dying on his tongue, a genuine confession of _“I need the money”_ ; though maybe Magnus knows that already, because who _knows_ what else “ _B_ _iscuit”_ might have said about him.

He stretches his arm out and focuses back on the conversation at hand, one which proves that besides everything else, Clary had done him a favour and dropped in a good word for him. He’ll definitely have to thank her when he next sees her.

“Would you be free to meet with me…” Magnus trails off, and Alec thinks he hears him take an audible sip of a drink before continuing, “tomorrow, perhaps? We can get ourselves properly acquainted, discuss the job, and you can meet the little _angel_ herself.”

If Alec listens closely enough, he can pick up on the _very_ faint background noise of the television playing, and the soft sound of a young girl singing quietly to herself. He smiles a little, still mildly unsure, but adjusts his hold on his phone as he replies.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Excellent!” Magnus’ tone is _excited_ , upbeat and energetic, “I’ll be sure to text you my address and such. Madzie here is _certainly_ looking forward to meeting you, as am I.”

 _Madzie_. Alec keeps a mental note of that, storing the name away for later, because _God forbid_ he forgets the name of the child he might end up babysitting.

“Great,” Alec drums his fingers against the countertop once again, vaguely nervous, and wills himself to stay calm, “thank you, Magnus.”

“No, _no_ , it’s quite alright.” Magnus pauses, and there’s a barely audible mumble of private conversation on his end of the line. “Well, unfortunately for us, it seems I’m required to go join in with art time.”

There’s an obvious smile evident in his tone, and Alec laughs lightly at the image of someone being dragged away from their phone call by an impatient child demanding their attention; something he’s _definitely_ witnessed a handful of times between Max and Izzy, or, occasionally, Simon and Clary— either of them are the child in this context.

“By all means, don’t let me stop you from creating a masterpiece,” Alec says, and instantly grins at the small chuckle he gets in response, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door to the kitchen suddenly swings open, and Izzy and Jace quickly take it upon themselves to crowd into the _impossibly_ small space between Alec and the nearby counter. He ignores their prying stares and loud whispers, and bats Izzy’s hand away from the phone with a stern warning glare.

“Goodbye for now, Alexander.”

Alec blinks dumbly at a spot on the wall opposite him, dazed. He blinks either too much or too little, the white paint starting to bore into his eyes as he finds himself zoning out; he thinks about nothing at all and then suddenly notes the absolute nothingness _around_ him, the lack of a smooth voice in his ear and the surprisingly rare silence from his siblings.

He brings his phone away from his ear and glances down at it, finding the call ended, and then places it carefully onto the countertop, screen-down. Izzy waves a perfectly-manicured hand in front of his face, dramatic as always, and leans forward to brace her forearms on the counter.

“You okay, big bro? You just briefly left this plane of existence.”

She’s genuinely concerned, nervousness evident throughout her tone despite the joke, and it’s a shocking contrast to where Jace seems to have already occupied himself with pouring a bowl of high-calorie, high-sugar cereal. Or _not_ , really, because Alec is used to that after fourteen _gruelling_ years of having Jace in the family.

He shrugs as he straightens his posture and then casually waves a hand, avoidant. He watches Jace rummage through the fridge to find wherever he last left the milk.

“Yeah, I just…”

 _Alexander_.

“…It’s nothing.”

Izzy looks at him dubiously, one of her eyebrows raised, but Alec continues on in a sterner tone.

“Forget about it, seriously. I’m alright. In fact, I have an interview of sorts, tomorrow.”

Jace needlessly drops a spoon into his bowl, the loud clatter of metal against ceramic ringing out into the room, and he grins wildly.

“Oh yeah? With _Mr. Bane_ himself?”

Izzy bursts into loud laughter for a second before she attempts to cover it up with a _horribly_ dramatic fake cough. Alec only sighs, and once he regains composure over his internal embarrassment, he _kindly_ flips Jace off and exits the kitchen as casually as he can manage.

After an entire day of doing pretty much nothing besides watching TV and cleaning up the mess that Izzy _always_ leaves in her path, Alec jumps at the sudden noise blaring from his phone, taking a second to readjust his breathing once he realises that it’s just the alarm he had set to remind him about his meeting with Magnus.

Immediately after their call yesterday, just like he said he would, Magnus had wasted no time in texting his address to Alec. He had also wasted no time in sending _another_ text only seconds later, detailing that he’d be free around 4 if Alec wanted to come over any time after that.

His phone currently reads 3:36 p.m., and Alec made sure to prepare ahead of time, already having looked up the distance between his own apartment and Magnus’ place; to his luck, it was around a ten minute drive, but the newfound information that the two live so close to each other paired with their mutual acquaintanceship of Clary… Alec finds it _slightly_ odd that neither of them have ever met before, or at the very least had _heard_ of each other before now.

He supposes it’s not that important to the situation though, that the outcome is favourable no matter the intriguing circumstances. If it wasn’t for Alec absently mentioning that he needs a job one day, and Clary excitedly responding with a ramble of “ _I know a guy! He’s looking for a babysitter for his daughter and he’ll definitely pay you well!”_ —a _heavily_ abridged version of the conversation, of course—then he would most likely still be sitting at home, mildly broke and _extremely_ unemployed.

Instead, he’s getting up, clearing away some leftover dishes and putting a few piles of clothing into the laundry basket as he makes his way to his bedroom, to get dressed and go out on his _own_ for the first time in a while. He pointedly ignores that the reason for all of this is to discuss a _job_ , because he knows he hasn’t been the most sociable person in the last year—or, _well_ , at all, really—so his friends are just going to be proud of him for finally leaving the house, _whatever_ the reason is.

Sifting through his closet, Alec easily swaps out his most comfortable stay-at-home sweatpants for a pair of simple black jeans, and then he stops. He stares at the clothes presented neatly in front of him, at the row of seemingly endless dark t-shirts, the stacks of short-sleeved button-ups, and the occasional hoodie or jacket almost _taunting_ him from where they rest on their hangers, wrinkled and worn.

He’s oddly specific about his clothing. Everything inside his closet is arranged in a way that only he’s used to, and everything is one of very few shades— a monochromatic scheme spanning the _incredible_ range of mid-grey to black. He has a thing about fabric too, certain materials making his skin crawl and eliciting a never-ending feeling of vague discomfort, which is why he owns nothing but the most _“basic”_ clothes (according to Isabelle); they’re trustworthy to him, items that he’s picked out after running through his mental checklist of colour and feel and fabric and fit, only the most comfortable of pieces being good enough to bring back home.

He wonders, now, if all of that was ever a mistake on his part. That maybe he should have some more clothes— some _different_ clothes, at _least_ a white shirt or two.

He _knows_ this should be simple, casual, and Jace has already reminded him twice today to “ _stop panicking_ ”; to which he had responded that he’s _not_ , something which was apparently a blatant lie because _yes_ he’s panicking, and he also continues to hate the way that Jace can so easily read and predict his emotions.

But he’s _rightfully_ nervous, he thinks, because this is a job interview above all else and he doesn’t exactly know how to handle that. Sure, Magnus sounded like a pleasant and relaxed guy on the phone, even _laughing_ a few times, and Alec knows that if he’s a friend of Clary’s then he really can’t be that bad at all; but Alec also knows that _he_ isn’t exactly the best at talking to people, constantly coming across as abrasive or blunt without ever meaning to, and it’s only natural for him to assume he’s going to slip up somewhere and ruin his chances at getting this job.

There’s a knock on the door and Alec looks over to find Izzy standing in the opening, leaning against the frame with her arms folded across her chest as she grins.

“You’ve been staring at your closet for like, I don’t know,” she quickly glances at her phone, “ten minutes now? If you needed my wonderful style assistance, you know you could have just asked.”

“I wasn’t _planning_ on asking you anything,” Alec starts, staying put even when she steps in front of him to flick through his clothes, “because you shouldn’t even _be_ here. Go hang out with Clary or something, Iz.”

She shoots him a bored look, one that Alec can easily read and interpret as a simple _“shut up”,_ before pulling a shirt off the hanger and inspecting it for a brief second. It’s apparently unworthy of her acknowledgement, because she wastes _no_ time in quickly throwing it onto the floor and going back to the rail.

Alec huffs, picking up the discarded shirt and hanging it neatly back in his closet, avoiding Izzy’s ongoing rummaging.

“How’d you even get in?” He asks, stepping away and letting her continue her meticulously well-thought-out process, “Jace is at work today.”

A t-shirt is haphazardly thrown his way and he thanks his fast reflexes as he catches it effortlessly in one hand.

“Are you kidding?” Izzy laughs and drops the spare hanger on the floor, “you should _know_ I have a spare key, Alec.”

He pauses. The shirt is only halfway on and stretched awkwardly over his arms, and Izzy smiles at him when she catches his gaze in the mirror. He fondly shakes his head, letting it go, and finishes pulling the shirt on, smoothing it down with his hands and trying to get a good angle in the mirror with Izzy still standing in his way.

“Did you know that your _entire_ closet is black? You should invest in some colour occasionally, maybe blue, it’ll make your eyes pop!” She says, finally moving aside to let him properly inspect his outfit.

“Black is professional,” Alec states— _seriously_ —before continuing, “and… _comfortable_.”

He frowns at his reflection.

“This shirt doesn’t fit me, Iz.”

It’s _slightly_ too small, and he can tell just by looking at it that he probably should have thrown this out a while ago; it’s just a plain black tee, but the sleeves hug his biceps a little too tightly and the bottom hem just barely grazes the top of his jeans. If he _just_ — Alec lifts his arms up to quickly test his theory, instantly squinting at the small section of skin that uncovers with the rise of the fabric.

Izzy laughs, a _knowing_ smirk spreading across her face.

“Come on, stop glaring at me like that! You look good!”

“I’m not trying to look _good_ , I—” Alec huffs and drops his arms. “This is _hardly_ appropriate.”

“Well…” Izzy straightens up, folding her arms tight and dramatically pouting as she puts on a monotonously deep voice, “black is professional.”

Alec stares back at her, silent and judging, an eyebrow raised, and she continues to hold her pose for a few _long_ minutes until she breaks. It makes Alec smile too, and he rolls his eyes as she gives him an encouraging thumbs-up.

“Whatever,” he sighs, grabbing the nearest jacket off the rail and accepting his fate of wearing the too-small shirt.

(Which, though he won’t verbally admit it, does actually _feel_ quite cosy _._ Snug, in a way. It’s not that bad.)

He arrives at Magnus’ place slightly later than he’d like to have, his phone telling him that it’s already half 4, but he shakes away the nerves and knocks on the door in a confident rhythm. He drums his fingers against his thigh as he waits patiently, looking around the hallway of the complex and noting that Magnus’ apartment seems to be a _penthouse_. _Fancy._

The door swings open a few seconds later, and Alec blinks at the man now standing in front of him.

Magnus is slightly taller than expected, but that’s only because Alec knows that he, according to Izzy, is “ _ridiculously tall, like, seriously, a giant_ ”, so it’s often startling to find someone only a couple of inches shorter than him; though Alec doesn’t miss the small heel on his shoes, and considers that maybe he’s _not_ as tall as first impressions would lead him to believe.

“Alexander, I take it?” He asks, tone unreadable, and Alec flexes his fingers instinctually as the anxiety begins to creep in.

(He still doesn’t think to correct him on his name.)

“Yeah, I’m sorry for being late, I didn’t—”

Magnus interrupts with a chuckle, waving a hand dismissively, and then starts to fidget with a long-chained necklace hanging loosely from his neck; one of many necklaces, apparently, and his fingers are decorated with ornate rings on almost every digit. His nails are painted navy, with a _tiny_ hint of glitter— Magnus coughs, and Alec blinks up at him to find him grinning.

“Don’t worry about it,” he steps to the side and motions inside, “come on in, make yourself at home.”

Alec nods and offers a small smile before walking inside the apartment.

It’s large, spacious and open and clearly a loft-type plan rather than a standard apartment; the living room is _far_ from minimalist, vaguely cluttered in fact, but still stylish, French doors slid open along the back wall to reveal a balcony; the view _beautiful_ even from where Alec is standing in the lounge.

He ventures further into the loft, forgetting himself slightly as he glances around. There’s a hallway leading off to the right and an open kitchen on the left, with expensive-looking appliances and cupboards stocked full of mason jars and bottles of spices; Alec turns around as he hears the tapping of Magnus’ heels against the wooden floor.

“You know, with our mutual friend connection, I’m astonished we haven’t met before,” he says, coming to a stop a few inches away from where Alec is standing, “though, I admit, I would _definitely_ remember meeting someone as handsome as you.”

There’s a sly grin on his face, a _smirk_ , almost, and Alec doesn’t miss the flicker of Magnus’ brown eyes as they give him a quick once-over.

He’s confused at that, taken aback that _Magnus_ of all people would pay _Alec_ a compliment— Magnus, perfectly done up, accessorised with jewellery and nail polish and _make-up_ ; and Alec, with his untameable messy hair and wardrobe consisting of nothing but black and too many pairs of sweatpants to count.

He doesn’t get it.

“Uh, yeah.” He coughs awkwardly, and then glances down at the floor as he fidgets with the stud in his ear.

When he eventually looks back up, Magnus is staring at him with a _quizzical_ expression, a single eyebrow raised, and Alec decides now is a better time than any to change the topic.

“So, how exactly do you know Clary?”

It’s a valid question, he thinks, because this apartment certainly screams _wealth_ and Magnus’ appearance seems to coincide with that notion too; the jewellery around his neck and on his fingers shining too brightly to be fake, the outfit he’s wearing being oddly reminiscent of something from a previous century, and his make-up—not that Alec knows much about beauty products, his only knowledge being from things Izzy has taught him—is pristine, _spotless_ , a dark eyeshadow paired with gold liner and thick lashes.

He’s attractive. Alec briefly wonders how old he is.

“I _could_ tell you how Biscuit and I met,” Magnus begins, wandering towards the kitchen, “but I think the mystery is _far_ more interesting than the real answer. Do you want a drink? Tea, coffee? Perhaps something stronger?”

Magnus waves a whiskey glass in his direction and Alec refrains from pointing out that it’s still early in the afternoon.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.”

Magnus shrugs and flicks the kettle on, presumably for himself, and Alec forgoes following him in favour of deciding to sit down in the lounge. The sofa is comfortable, and Alec leans forward to glance at the books stacked neatly on the coffee table; a few recipe books, sticky notes poking out of the pages as bookmarks, and a thick notebook with a fountain pen laying besides it like it was recently in use.

The sound of a door opening and closing in the distance alerts Alec into sitting up straight, and he cautiously glances down the hallway as small footsteps start to approach.

A young girl—maybe no older than _six_ —slowly peeps out from around the corner. Her hair is tied up into two small buns and her eyes are wide where she stares at Alec, obviously scared of the stranger in her home. He offers a gentle “ _hi there_ ” as he waves at her, slouching in his seat so as not to appear too tall, and then gives a gentle smile as she shyly waves back.

It takes a few minutes for her to come out of hiding, and Alec waits patiently for her to start walking into the room, eventually climbing up onto the sofa and taking a seat next to him. She kicks her feet lazily against the frame and pulls a pillow into her lap.

“You must be Madzie, right?” He keeps his voice soft and only continues when she nods. “Cool. I’m Alec. It’s very nice to meet you, Madzie.”

A slow smile settles on her face and she leans back further into the sofa. She’s quiet, but not _unfriendly_. She’s shy, and Alec can understand that— he relates, in fact. It might take a little while for her to open up, or for him to earn her trust, but he supposes that her sitting with him is a _solid_ first step.

He sits back, shuffling so he can slouch into the sofa and be slightly closer to her eyeline, and grins when she quickly pulls a face at him. He responds with a similarly silly face, scrunching his nose up and sticking his tongue out, holding it for only a few seconds before he involuntarily breaks into a grin at her cute giggle.

“I’m glad to see the two of you are getting along already,” Magnus’ voice trails from behind the sofa as he walks into the room, “she hardly ever socialises with new people _this_ quickly.”

He dropped his voice for that, speaking only to Alec so that Madzie doesn’t overhear, and then he pauses in front of the coffee table. There’s a soft _clink_ as he places a teacup and a cupcake down onto the table, and Magnus wastes no time in taking a seat in the middle of the sofa opposite them. He kicks one leg up over the other in a single fluid motion, purposely poised and with a practiced flair that makes Alec feel like Magnus is _far_ too used to being overly dramatic.

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” he leans forward in his seat to push the cake towards Madzie, picking up the teacup for himself while he’s there. “I baked you a little treat today, just like I promised.”

Alec feels the cushion next to him shift, and Madzie excitedly shuffles forward to grab the cupcake off the table. The sponge appears to be chocolate, with chocolate frosting on top in a _perfect_ swirl and just a handful of sprinkles, held neatly in bright pink paper case— there’s a gentle tug on the sleeve of Alec’s denim jacket, and he tries not to flinch away at the foreign touch. He’s not quite… _accustomed_ , to physical contact from people he hardly knows.

It’s only Madzie though, a _child_ —someone that he can’t necessarily _blame_ for being touchy—and her hand is gone from his arm just as quickly as it was present, a gentle smile on her face as she looks up at him.

“Do you want to share?” She asks, holding the cake in her palms and pushing it towards him.

“Oh,” Alec blinks at her, “okay. That’s nice of you.”

Madzie smiles sweetly before slowly peeling the wrapper from the cake, dropping it into her lap and then trying her best to break the treat into equal halves. It doesn’t exactly work, and Alec tries to hold back a laugh as she frowns at the piece that fell into a bigger chunk than the other. He can’t resist smiling when she carefully places the larger piece into his open palm.

“Thank you very much, Madzie.”

She smiles back before she starts eating, picking small pieces from the cake and eating them slowly and almost methodically. It’s endearing, but most of all it’s oddly neat, and Alec only wishes that the _twenty-three-year-old_ he calls a brother could somehow be this tidy with his food. Jace is a _mess_.

Alec carefully splits his portion of the cake into another set of halves, also uneven, but keeps the slightly smaller half in his hand as he eats the other piece. It’s good. _Really_ good.

He looks across at Magnus and finds him already staring back at him, head tilted slightly and an amused grin on his face behind his teacup.

“Did you really make this?” Alec takes another bite, “this is seriously amazing.”

Magnus laughs. He puts his tea down, another sharp _clink_ , and then uncrosses his legs as he leans forward, elbows bracing his knees and his chin resting atop his palms.

“I’m _flattered_ , Alexander, truly,” he waves a hand, a graceful flick of his wrist, “I actually didn’t think you’d be the chocolate type. Maybe more of a vanilla— no, wait, _definitely_ a funfetti guy.”

Alec quickly swallows his last bite so as not to choke on a laugh, and then grins.

“I think I’d eat _anything_ you made if it tasted as good as this.”

He gently nudges Madzie with his arm and passes her the small piece of cake he was saving. She beams up at him, responding with a kind “ _thank you_ ” as she takes it, and Alec smiles softly before turning back to Magnus.

“Are you a chef?” He asks, “or a baker?”

Magnus hums, changing his seating position again and leaning back into the sofa, casually throwing an arm over the back and kicking one of his legs out lazily in front of him.

“I don’t think your guesses could be any _further_ from my actual profession,” he winks, “want to try again?”

He gestures to himself with his free hand, waving towards his body as if his appearance could contribute to the answer, and Alec decides to play along, if only because he’s _intrigued_ ; Magnus lives in a fancy penthouse loft in the middle of Brooklyn, furnished like a home you’d see on some kind of high-budget interior decorating TV show, and he also happens to somehow be friends with Clary Fray— a broke 19 year old _art student_.

Forgive him for thinking that it doesn’t quite add up.

He takes a glance at Magnus’ outfit and finds the mystery spiralling even further; his shirt is dark-red and shiny, silk or satin maybe, the top few buttons undone to accommodate for his plethora of necklaces and the sleeves rolled up slightly to avoid overlapping the bracelets he’s wearing; a few that look like delicate jewellery and a few simple beaded ones, plus a brightly coloured one that looks to be made of plastic or… _pasta_ , it’s painted pasta shapes.

Alec finds himself smiling as Magnus starts to fidget with it, fingers sliding delicately under the string and pulling at it slightly.

The rest of his outfit is standard fare, tight black jeans tucked into leather combat boots—he was right about the heel, it’s about an inch or two, making Magnus undoubtedly shorter than Alec—but Alec knows that the shoes alone probably cost more than the entire outfit he’s wearing today.

(Not probably— _definitely_.)

“I suppose I’ll save you another wrong guess,” Magnus says, teasing, and Alec rolls his eyes in response. “I _aaaam_ … Sweet Pea, drumroll please.”

Madzie, apparently preoccupied this entire time with turning her cupcake wrapper into _some_ kind of origami creation, quickly puts it to the side and excitedly taps on her legs, offbeat and in no particular rhythm.

Alec thinks she’s the cutest kid he’s ever seen, save for when Max was younger, _of course_. He could say the same about Izzy, but the small age-gap means he was _also_ a kid when she was. He actually thought Izzy was _super annoying_ as a child.

“Thank you, my dear.” Magnus blows Madzie a kiss and she laughs before going back to her paper-folding.

“I’m a curator,” he says, turning back to Alec, “of antiquities and such. I own a store not far from here.”

 _Antiques._ An antique store. Alec blinks at Magnus, at his fancy rings and gold ear cuff and the bleach-blonde ends in his otherwise dark hair, the pure eccentricity of it all, and chuckles; because of _course_. _Of_ _course_ he’s a curator.

He removes his face from his hands once he’s done laughing, shaking his head at the way Magnus is looking at him, an eyebrow raised questionably alongside a small grin.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “that just makes a _lot_ of sense, now that I’m thinking about it.”

Magnus chuckles then, running a hand through his hair and shrugging casually.

“It _does_ suit me, I suppose.”

Alec feels another small tug on his sleeve and he looks down again. Madzie is holding her origami creation carefully in one hand; a flower, a lily specifically, and she pushes it towards him. He tries not to gasp out loud.

“For me?” He asks quietly, and Madzie nods enthusiastically.

He gently takes it from her hand, making sure to pick it up softly so as not to crinkle or tear it, and takes a few seconds to admire it before moving to place it in the front pocket of his jacket; Madzie quickly reaches a hand out to stop him and grabs the flower from his palm.

“Here,” she says, “in your hair!”

Alec laughs as she climbs up onto the couch, standing up to reach his head, and she’s slow in her movements as she slides the paper to rest behind his ear, positioning it slightly until she pulls her hand away and is seemingly confident with the placement. She’s gentle enough in her ministrations that he doesn’t respond to the touch, not at all bothered or even slightly overwhelmed like he usually is when a stranger will do something as minute as accidentally brush against him; he supposes that the _context_ of the situation and his overall mood usually affects his reaction.

The flower doesn’t move or fall as he tilts his head, thankfully.

“How do I look?” He asks.

“Pretty!” Madzie says, and Alec feels his smile shift into his genuine off-centre one.

He hears Magnus laugh, a subtle snicker, but his phone suddenly buzzes in his back pocket before he can even look over. He sighs as he pushes himself up off the sofa, making sure not to knock Madzie or jostle her where she’s still standing proudly on the cushion next to him, and quickly pulls his phone from his pocket once he’s up.

 **Iz** (17:21)  
clarys coming over!! dont stay out too late 😏😘

Alec huffs out a laugh.

“Girlfriend?” Magnus asks, an inquisitive look on his face, and Alec furrows his eyebrows briefly before sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“My sister, Izzy,” he says, and then fidgets with the bottom hem of his jacket, “Clary’s coming over for dinner, so I should probably get going.”

Magnus nods as he stands up, his previous curiosity forgotten and instead shifting to something akin to _approval_ , a pleased grin on his face as he shrugs. He brushes at his thighs, despite the lack of dirt, and steps around the coffee table to stand closer to Alec.

“That’s no problem at all,” he waves a hand, curling his fingers in a strange dainty movement before folding his arms across his chest, “tell Isabelle I said hello, would you?”

Alec smiles and nods.

“Sure.”

He suddenly pauses.

“Wait—”

Magnus smirks at him, clearly holding back a laugh, and Alec frowns.

“You know Izzy?”

“I know a _lot_ of things, Alexander,” Magnus winks, tone slightly teasing, and then flicks his hands out in front of him, “now shoo, shoo. Go on.”

He motions for Alec to lead the way out of the lounge, but Alec takes a second to turn and wave at Madzie before he leaves. She waves back, a small pout on her face as she mumbles a soft “ _bye Alec_ ”, and he feels his heart tighten in his chest.

Magnus walks Alec out, back through the loft and to the front door, heels clicking loudly on the floor as they walk side-by-side. He opens the door and leans casually against the frame.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he tilts his head, “or _call_ , perhaps.”

Alec nods and scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, alright. Call me. Sure.”

“I certainly will,” Magnus grins, “now seriously, get yourself home, Alexander. I know how much Biscuit _hates_ lateness.”

He’s right, and Alec shakes his head fondly as he laughs, not bothering to point out that he can’t possibly be late back to his _own_ home; he might as well share the apartment with Clary at this point, given how often she seems to spend her time there, dragging Izzy along with her— and how the two of them would certainly agree that he _is_ late to dinner.

Magnus waves as he leaves and Alec waves back before letting the elevator doors slide shut.

When he gets back to his apartment, he lets himself in and instantly grimaces at the cacophony of noise, a bunch of voices all yelling and talking over each other. Alec shouts a quick _“I’m home!”_ into the hall, accepting that he probably won’t even be heard over the ruckus, and doesn’t hesitate to kick his shoes off and leave them by the door.

There’re two extra pairs that he doesn’t recognise, besides Jace’s sneakers and Izzy’s ever-fashionable boots, and he shrugs it off as he wanders into the lounge. He peels his jacket off, draping it neatly over the back of the sofa, and proceeds to follow the noise all the way into the kitchen.

Izzy is standing to one side, hair pulled up into a ponytail and an apron tied loosely around her waist, and Alec can’t help the groan that slips out his mouth.

“Someone _please_ tell me Iz isn’t making dinner,” he mumbles, taking a slow look around the rest of the kitchen— the parts of it that he can see, anyways, because it’s never exactly been a big kitchen to begin with and now it’s crammed with far too many people; Clary happily dancing around in front of the open fridge, Izzy helping her prepare drinks, and Jace sitting at one of the only clean counters with Simon sitting _on_ the countertop next to him.

“She’s not, _thankfully_ ,” Jace says, “though it took a while to convince her to back off.”

“I’m getting better!” Izzy shouts, waving an empty glass around, “Clary’s been teaching me— anyways, _Alec_ , you’re not such a great cook yourself, you know!”

Alec narrows his eyes, sceptical, and lets it go in favour of taking a seat next to Jace. The food _does_ smell good, whatever it is, and Alec only now realises just how hungry he is, staring down at his stomach as it starts to make noises that he hopes no one else can hear.

Jace is playing on his phone, whatever new mobile game he’s obsessed with for the current week, and he doesn’t blink when Clary begins clearing the countertop to make space for the food— an act which requires her to push Simon onto the floor. Alec snorts out a small laugh.

“Successful date?” Simon asks, and Alec doesn’t even realise he’s being spoken to until he looks over at Simon, staring back at him with genuine intrigue.

Alec is _lost_.

He’s even more confused when he hears Izzy cackle as she blatantly eavesdrops.

“What?” He asks. “I wasn’t on a date.”

Simon squints behind his glasses as if he still can’t see—Alec wouldn’t be surprised, really—and then points to Alec’s ear. Alec lifts his hand up, mildly nervous, and quickly realises what it is. He lets out a relieved sigh.

“ _Right_ , because I went on a date with a paper flower in my hair,” he deadpans, gently removing the origami from behind his ear.

He pockets it, pushing it carefully into his jeans so as not to squash it, and immediately looks up when he hears plates being placed onto the countertop. Clary takes a seat opposite him once she’s done serving the food and Alec tries not to drool at the _amazing_ -looking spaghetti in front of him.

Everyone eats in content silence for the first few minutes of the meal, enjoying themselves too much to joke around or yell, and _this_ is always Alec’s favourite part of dinner time. Sure, he loves Jace and Izzy, and if anyone asks then he says that he _tolerates_ Simon and Clary, but sometimes they really can be the loudest people in the world. They’re even _worse_ when they’re all together.

Alec appreciates _quiet_ , he likes peacefulness and order and things being, at the very least, manageable; he _hates_ chaos, unbearable noise, and situations that are beyond his control.

Izzy breaks the silence first, humming loudly around a mouthful of food.

“Clary, my angel,” she starts, “this is incredible. _You’re_ incredible.”

Simon _awe’s_ loudly when Clary turns pink, and everyone takes turns to compliment Clary on her cooking, proceeding to laugh as her cheeks get darker with each comment. Izzy leans over and kisses her on the cheek, a perfect imprint of red lipstick staining her skin, and Alec smiles a little at the way Clary happily grins back.

Iz is right, _of course_ , because dinner is always incredible whenever Clary makes it. Alec is briefly reminded of Magnus’ cake and he pauses, wondering if the connection between Magnus and Clary has anything to do with cooking. He wouldn’t be surprised.

He suddenly remembers something _else_ and takes a quick sip of his water before levelling Izzy with an unreadable stare.

“Isabelle,” he says, holding back a smirk when she narrows her eyes back at him, “ _Magnus_ told me to say hi.”

He _wants_ to ask if she was ever going to tell him that she knew Magnus—he _needs_ to know how, considering she lives all the way back in Manhattan—but Simon quickly interjects, making a surprised muffled noise around a mouthful of food. It’s disgusting. Alec wishes he wasn’t sitting next to him.

 _“Oh!”_ He points his fork in Alec’s direction. “You were at Magnus’? The flower makes more sense now.”

Alec blinks at him.

On his other side, he hears Jace quietly snicker, trying not to laugh. Alec places his fork down on the table with enough force to make a noise.

“Okay,” he begins, “so am I the _only_ person here who didn’t know Magnus before today?”

There’s a resounding hum from around the counter, everyone offering vague non-committal noises and refusals to comment properly. Izzy looks strangely _smug_ as she shrugs and takes a sip of her drink.

“It doesn’t _matter_ , big brother,” she flips her ponytail away from her shoulder, “how’d it go?”

He looks down at his plate, twirling his fork around a mound of spaghetti.

“He’s…” Alec takes a moment to search for the right word, “very _interesting_.”

The kitchen is oddly silent in response. Alec looks up from his food and finds everyone staring at him, their expressions ranging from quizzical to highly amused; Izzy pushes her plate to the side, somehow cleared already, and props her head up on her hands as a practiced smirk spreads across her face.

She’d probably be more intimidating if her lipstick wasn’t smudged.

“He sure is,” she says, “but I was wondering more how the interview went.”

Alec freezes with his fork only centimetres from his mouth.

The interview. The job interview. _Babysitting_. He had completely forgotten the reason he was even there in the first place. The anxiety suddenly washes over him as Alec does a quick mental recap of the afternoon; he hesitates as he thinks about “ _I’ll text you tomorrow_ ”, Magnus’ soft voice serving as a gentle reminder that he couldn’t have been _that_ bad.

“I think it went alright.” He gestures vaguely to his ear with his free hand. “Madzie made me the flower, so…”

He trails off, unsure what exactly his friends what to hear, and instead distracts himself with taking a bite of pasta that’s _way_ too large. It’s a mistake. He tries not to look too disgusted as he chews through the regret.

Izzy sits back with a content nod and the silent agreement to move on from the topic, and Alec is appreciative for that.

The rest of dinner carries on without a hitch, Alec being left alone and only contributing to the conversation when he feels like it, something that everyone is well-adjusted to after knowing him for so long— though Clary and Simon have only known him for a year now, they seem to have quickly gotten used to the type of person he is; which is a feat in itself, really, because Alec found them _both_ to be _incredibly_ annoying when they’d first met.

Izzy and Clary occasionally whisper between themselves, small smiles and tiny giggles and clasped hands resting on the countertop, while Simon rambles excitedly about the new _“sound”_ he’s working on for an assignment at college; an unforeseen adventure into learning how to play the _bass_ , apparently.

They hardly ever discuss _home_. Alec will ask about Izzy, of course, about how she’s doing at med school and how she’s possibly surviving without his _lovely_ guidance. He’ll ask about Max, about school and his friends and how he’s getting on, and Jace will ask a couple of things too. Neither of them ask about their parents, and Izzy doesn’t tell them anything. _It’s better this way_ , Alec tells himself.

When they’re all finished for the evening, a lack of dessert because everyone is quick to tell Izzy that they’re not hungry and she _really_ doesn’t need to make one, Simon and Jace take it upon themselves to wash the dishes and tidy up the kitchen while Alec walks Clary and Izzy out— a strange switch of roles, considering Alec is usually _always_ the one washing up and cleaning, but he pays it no mind as Simon starts to blast music from his phone and happily stacks a pile of plates in his arms.

Clary takes a while to lace her sneakers up at the door and Izzy takes this moment to pull Alec aside, or as aside as she could possibly get him in the small entrance hallway.

“I’m really proud of you,” she says, squeezing his forearm gently where she’s still holding him, “you’re great with kids, and I’m sure Magnus saw that today. This is gonna be good for you.”

Alec grins.

“It’s just babysitting, Iz,” he gently places his hand over hers and then shrugs it off, “I doubt it’s going to be a lifechanging experience.”

“Maybe,” she hums, “maybe not. I’m still proud of you, so can you just accept the praise and hug me already? I won’t be back for a few weeks, so you owe me a _big_ one.”

Izzy holds her arms out and Alec dramatically sighs before he stumbles forward, wrapping his own arms around her to steady his balance as she literally pulls him into a hug. He still has to bend down to reach her comfortably, despite her heels, but he laughs when he feels her giggle into his shoulder.

They’re used to this—“ _this_ ” being the goodbye’s—and over time it’s become easier for them to part on a casual comment and a simple hug, knowing that they’ll see each other again soon because Izzy just can’t help herself from visiting almost _monthly_.

He pulls away when Clary bounds up to them, steps as bouncy as ever, and he watches her and Izzy waste no time in interlocking their hands; Alec would say that half a year of dating has made them as confident as they are today, but it’s not true at all, because the two of them have _always_ been just as outgoing in their relationship from day one as they are now. He expects no less from them though, they’re both _incredibly_ strong, and brave beyond words.

“Hey, Clary,” Alec calls out to her before she leaves, and she spins on her heels to quickly face him. Izzy reluctantly gets pulled around too and Alec snorts when she almost trips. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me, with Magnus.”

She blinks at him, wide-eyed for a second, and then nods enthusiastically.

“It’s nothing,” she smiles warmly, “you should give yourself more credit, Alec! Magnus hardly ever lets just _anyone_ walk into his home, y’know. Maybe you won him over a little by yourself.”

And then she leaves, just like that, her and Izzy letting themselves out with a quick shout of _“bye!”_ and _“see ya around, bro!”_ respectively, and Alec continues to stand alone and confused in the quiet hallway of his empty apartment.

The immediate sound of something being knocked over, followed by a small “ _shit_ ”, reminds him that he is in fact _not_ alone in his apartment, and Alec drags himself into the lounge to investigate the mysterious item that Simon has most definitely broken.

He’s right, and not at all surprised to find Jace with his back turned to Simon, a hand over his mouth and his gaze fixed on the floor as he tries not to laugh. Alec can’t even begin to figure out what exactly it even _is_ that Simon’s holding in his hands, a broken piece in each palm and a worried frown spreading across his face as he looks up at Alec.

“I—”

Alec puts a hand up.

“I don’t care,” he sighs, “I’m going to bed. Try not to set the apartment on fire.”

Simon looks cautiously between the things in his hands and then back at Alec, his face hinting that he _genuinely_ might be cautious of starting a fire. Jace snorts out a small laugh and offers Alec a soft _“night, man”_ and pats him on the back as he passes by. He hears Simon bid him a goodnight as he exits the lounge, and tiredly carries himself into his bedroom as quickly as he can.

The second Alec’s head hits the pillow, he’s out, and he lets himself drift off into a peaceful sleep.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec makes a noise that he knows will haunt him if he thinks about it too much, an uncouth mixture between a laugh and a snort, so instead he looks down into the black abyss of his coffee and tries not to laugh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know.. i completely forgot to tag this with like, human au or whatever. my bad. it's been corrected now. i'm a Fool. anyways i hope ur all doing well and having a nice day! :3c

Alec can think of a handful of ways that he likes to be woken up: with the sunlight filtering in through the tiny gap in the curtains, the gentle chirping of birds being the only noise he can hear, the blankets soft and his limbs not aching for once— breakfast in bed sounds enjoyable, but it’s a fantasy he’s yet to partake in, much to his own disappointment.

Above all else, he likes to wake up on his _own_ terms, at his own set time; be it by alarm or just by naturally waking up.

Which is why when he wakes up at a time that he _certainly_ didn’t agree to, the button on his jeans digging uncomfortably into his stomach and the muffled sound of music still loud despite the closed door of his room— Alec rolls over in bed and pushes his face into one of his pillows as he groans.

After his brief tantrum—an exertion of energy that he shouldn’t even _have_ so early in the morning, and a spectacle that he hopes no one else ever has to witness in their life, lest they be forever haunted by the _more-disgruntled-than-usual_ appearance of Alec Lightwood in the morning; the two are _not_ a good combination—it takes him a little while longer to finally get up.

How long exactly, he’s not sure, but his eyes remain half-shut and he maintains a casual pout as he listens to the distant noises of kitchen equipment being moved around and occasionally _dropped_. A coincidental crash of metal against the tile floor makes Alec cringe involuntarily, and he tiredly drags a hand across his face, fingers coursing through the rough and barely-there stubble along his jaw.

With a sigh, he pulls himself away from the comfort of his bed—as comfortable as it could have been when he’d accidentally fallen asleep with his jeans on—and decides to get changed into some fresh clothes, risking a glance at his phone as he passes by the side-table; it’s already nearing noon, and he supposes that maybe it’s a _good_ thing he was finally awoken from his endless slumber.

When he eventually wanders towards the kitchen to investigate the source of all the commotion, Alec pauses at the door and just _listens_ , the music unfamiliar to him but the soft voice singing loudly above it _not_. It only serves to confuse him further, though, and doesn’t at _all_ answer any of the questions that were previously running through his head.

He pushes the door open and narrowly avoids a spatula being thrown his way, turning slightly to watch it bounce off the wall a few inches to his left, and then glaring as the offending item smacks against the floor with a _horribly_ grating noise.

“ _Jesus_ , Alec,” Simon holds a hand up to his chest, “could you maybe warn a guy before you decide to just silently burst into the room?”

Alec moves to idly pick at the bowl of fruit on the countertop, shrugging as Simon rushes to turn his music off, a hand still clutched to his chest like he was suffering from a heart attack. _How dramatic_.

“This is _my_ apartment,” Alec sits down on the nearest stool and starts peeling an orange, “ _which_ ,” he looks up, pointedly, “poses the question of why you’re _still_ here, actually.”

Simon returns to the stovetop, spatula long forgotten and still on the floor near the doorway, and he effortlessly tosses the pancakes he’s making into a perfect arc. He keeps his back to Alec as he talks, his shoulders drawn almost suspiciously high.

“I stayed over,” he says simply, sliding the pancakes onto a plate, “ _and_ I’m going to have a _Blade_ marathon in your lounge, if you’d care to join me.”

Alec wishes he had something else to do today. Anything. _Anything_ to get him out of this.

But, he knows he _doesn’t_ , so he sighs as he stands up, picking up his orange pieces and carrying them in his palm as he walks into the lounge; resigned to his horrible, miserable, _awful_ fate.

“You watch the _Blade_ trilogy almost once a week, how are you not sick of it yet?”

“I’m going to pretend like you _didn’t_ just ask me that,” Simon mumbles, following close behind, and Alec just laughs breezily.

He makes it an hour into the first movie before he feels his brain start to literally shut down mid-thought— which, amazingly, is a new record for Alec. Usually he only makes it through about _fifteen minutes_ , and that’s _with_ Jace here. He’s not exactly _tired_ , but there’s only so many times he can sit through the same movies with Simon and hear him make the same jokes and passionately monologue to himself about the same plot points and character arcs; there’s _also_ only so many times he can deal with Simon smacking his hand away as he tries—and _fails_ —to steal one of his pancakes.

No one needs an _entire_ stack of pancakes for themselves. It’s _unfair_.

As if some divine being or ethereal force had heard his earlier pleas for a break, Alec’s phone starts to ring loudly in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he quickly fishes it out without pausing to look at the caller ID. There’s no time, he’s just thankful for the immediate distraction.

Simon rolls his eyes as he leans forward to pause the movie, an action that’s more for his own benefit of not wanting to miss the dialogue that he’s heard _hundreds_ of times before, and not at all _anything_ to do with Alec.

“Hello?”

“Alexander,” there’s a brief pause, “did I happen to catch you at a bad time?”

Alec feels himself straighten up, his posture shifting and his grip on his phone tightening. He quickly sends Simon a precursory warning glare, a signal for him to _shut up,_ and something that he evidently _ignores_ when he whispers a nosy _“who is it?”_.

“Magnus, hey,” Alec holds up a single finger at Simon, _wait_ , “not at all, I’m just at home. What’s going on?”

He realises after he’s already said it that it was a stupid thing to say, or ask, because _of course_ Magnus would be calling him in regards to the babysitting. They’d hardly discussed it at all yesterday— in fact, they hadn’t discussed it even a little, and that’s what Magnus is hiring him for, after all. It makes sense that he’d call again to talk about _business_ and not just for a friendly chat.

Magnus laughs on the other end of the line, breezy and casual as ever, and it’s incredible how quickly such a noise can help calm Alec’s nerves.

“Similarly to you, I’m not up to much. Madzie is at a friend’s house and it’s _terribly_ boring without her around to keep me on my toes.” He pauses for a brief second before continuing. “I was wondering if you’d like to meet up today— discuss work, maybe grab a coffee? I’m always a fan of a late lunch.”

Alec sinks back into the sofa and idly fidgets with his earring. Simon elbows him, his expression confused and a single eyebrow raised, and Alec narrows his eyes at him.

“Sure, alright,” he hums, “text me whenever you’re ready, I guess.”

“Darling, I’m _always_ ready,” Magnus chuckles lowly and Alec feels heat rise to his cheeks, “but _yes_ , of course, I’ll be sure to text you soon.”

There’s a poignant pause, mildly awkward and uncomfortable and Alec knows it’s his fault but he can’t find anything to _say_ , he can’t will his mouth to actually move; Simon is staring at him like he’s an alien, some kind of unknown and strange creature— not a _“cool”_ one like he so often rambles about, but a seriously _uncool_ one, something stupid and incredibly puzzling, if Simon’s gaze is anything to go by.

The silence breaks when Magnus laughs again. Alec swears he never stops laughing or grinning— or _smirking_ , rather. He doesn’t actually mind it that much; there are worse sounds in the world than Magnus’ laugh, and worse expressions he could wear.

“I’m taking your stunned silence as _approval_ , Alexander,” Magnus’ tone is teasing, “and I’ll leave _you_ to get ready. See you soon.”

He must hang up, because Alec can suddenly only hear the hum of the dial tone and nothing else; no faded music in the background of the call, no mumbles of audio from a quiet TV, nothing. _Silence_.

He pushes his phone deep into his pocket as he stands up from the couch, and he’s about to leave the room when something— _someone_ , rather—cautiously grabs his wrist.

“Where are you going?” Simon asks, curious, and it takes him a few seconds to catch himself, realising that he’s still holding onto Alec and then quickly letting go, an apologetic and sheepish grin settling on his face.

Alec only blinks back at him.

“…Out?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Simon frowns, “what am _I_ supposed to do in the meantime?”

Alec looks around the lounge slowly, confused by the question, and then shrugs when he glances back at Simon.

“Wait until Jace gets home, I guess,” he starts to walk out of the room and then stops, spinning on his heels and levelling Simon with a bored stare, “and _don’t_ break anything while I’m gone.”

Simon nods slowly and Alec decides it’s the best response he’s going to get, quickly leaving to his bedroom to get ready.

Magnus had texted him with the details to meet at 1:30, giving Alec hardly _any_ time to get dressed; if Izzy was still here then maybe he wouldn’t have struggled to choose between two _very_ similar pair of jeans for ten whole minutes. Or, realistically, maybe he still would have, because Izzy would probably be too busy doing something else or Alec would be too proud to _dare_ ask her for fashion advice. She’d hold it above him for _years_.

The coffee shop Magnus had chosen to meet at was— _luckily_ —right around the corner, and actually one of Alec’s favourites. _Java Jones_ is one of the few café’s that manage to make his preferred drink perfectly every time, no shocking difference in the ratio of coffee to espresso depending on the barista, and it’s also just the most convenient to get to. He’s a little lazy, what can he say?

Alec decides to _drive_ to the café. It’s two minutes down the road but he wants to be on time, and he also doesn’t want to _walk_ when he’ll probably end up looking even more dishevelled than he usually does, no thanks to the windy weather. Forgive him for trying to make a good impression, and for trying to stay neat and tidy in front of the man that’s trusting him to take perfect care of his daughter.

Though it’s hard to make a good impression when Magnus seems to constantly look like _that_ ; he’s standing in front of the window of the café when Alec finally pulls up, his ankles crossed as he easily leans back against the glass and inspects his nails. Magnus never fails to emanate a casual aura despite the very _not_ -casualness of his appearance; it’s something relaxing, something that makes Alec feel at ease, _comforted_.

His heels are higher today, lace-up ankle boots with at least a three-inch heel on them— Alec inwardly cringes at the thought of trying to walk in heels. Sometimes he stumbles with the tiny half-inch on his combat boots, and don’t even get him _started_ on the time Jace was roped into trying on a pair of Izzy’s _“cutest”_ stilettos. Their trip to the ER that week was one of their more embarrassing visits for sure.

Much like his shirt yesterday, Magnus is wearing red again today; his pants are snug where they stretch around his thighs and calves, a deep burgundy shade and a _velvet_ texture, Alec thinks; paired with a cropped mesh tee and a matching velvet jacket. There’s a plethora of jewellery still present, several necklaces hanging loosely around his neck, and the rings on his fingers shine blindingly when they happen to catch the sunlight.

It’s no surprise that he appears to be the subject of many stares as people pass by him on the street, adults of all genders turning their heads to blatantly check him out, and kids peering up at him in what could only be described as _awe_. Alec assumes that Magnus is aware of this, he _has_ to be, if only for the fact that he must dress this extravagantly all the time; he tries not to grin at the thought of Magnus wearing some kind of flamboyant outfit to the _grocery store_ , heeled boots clicking loudly against the linoleum as someone like Jace—decked out from head-to-toe in matching workout gear—walks by him.

Alec quickly gets out of his car and heads towards the café, his steps seeming to alert Magnus to his present before he can even get out a “ _hey”_.

“Alexander!” He smiles as he kicks himself off the wall. “How lovely to see you again.”

Alec nods and comes to a standstill, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he resists the ever-present urge to fidget.

“Were you waiting long?” He asks, eyeing the expensive-looking watch around Magnus’ wrist.

“Oh no, not at all,” Magnus waves a hand and Alec notices that his nails are black today; plain black, somehow shiny even with the _lack_ of glitter. “Besides,” he continues on, “I’d happily wait forever if it meant I were to be graced with such _fine_ company.”

Magnus shoots him a wink, practiced and perfect, and Alec— Alec feels the corner of his mouth twitch up into a genuine grin. He eyes Magnus smiling back at him for a few seconds, the two of them standing in peaceful quiet until a sudden gust of wind reminds Alec that they’re outside, in the _cold_ , and he instinctively wraps his arms around himself to try and pull his leather bomber jacket closer to him; a vain attempt at keeping warm, and something Magnus seems to pick up on, because he wastes no time in opening the door to the café and motioning for Alec to walk ahead.

“After you, my good sir,” he says, bowing slightly and with his usual dramatic flourish, and Alec bites back a grin as he steps inside.

 _Java Jones_ has been Alec’s favourite coffee shop for a year now, ever since he had moved here and Jace introduced him to it; dragging him out one day after claims that he’d bumped into some _“cool people”_ — _two_ cool people, to be precise—and they’d invited him to hang out. Alec didn’t think he was actually invited, and if he was then he wasn’t sure _why_ , but his first meeting with Clary and Simon was less than ideal.

The two talked a lot where Alec didn’t, they laughed and joked around where Alec was monotonous and straight-faced, they were confident and happy where Alec was self-conscious and awkward; Jace kept spirits high in that confident way he always does, and somehow Clary and Simon had kept coming back, kept inviting Alec out and buying him coffee and treating him to the occasional slice of cake. In time, he opened up, and though he sometimes still wishes he had a mute button for Simon, Alec can’t deny that he _likes_ them, and that he’s also come to love this café.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall type of joint, quiet and secluded and usually not very busy. The lights are often low and the walls are decorated stylishly, everything finished with an artistic flair, and Alec thinks _that_ is probably what draws in the younger crowd, like the hipster types and the Simon’s and Clary’s; the décor, paired with the calm acoustic music playing from the overhead speakers, and the weekly evening entertainment of slam poetry and local musicians, Simon included.

The booths and the tables with couches are usually empty though, and they’re _comfortable_ , not to mention that their coffee is _super_ good and incredibly cheap, so Alec can’t reasonably complain at all. Not when it’s the closest coffee place near his apartment, anyways.

Magnus doesn’t sit down, and instead leans against the edge of the booth that Alec has slid into.

“What can I get you?” He asks, and before Alec can even open his mouth, Magnus holds a hand up dismissively. “I invited you out, Alexander, so let me _at least_ buy you a drink.”

He stares Alec down with a look that dares him to try and fight back, and although not unfamiliar with arguing—he has siblings, after all—Alec isn’t going to start bickering with a man he hardly knows in the middle of a public place; certainly not one that he frequents often enough that the staff and patrons would definitely recognise him as the source of their daily entertainment, two grown adults fighting over who should buy who a coffee. Magnus’ eyes sparkle with a hint of mirth, a mischievous grin on his face like he knows exactly what Alec is thinking.

Alec caves and settles comfortably into his seat.

“I’ll have a red eye,” he says, and Magnus blinks at him like he’s speaking a different language all of a sudden. “It’s just coffee and espresso, have you seriously—”

Magnus bites his lip as he smirks, and Alec gives him a wary frown.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Just go order already, will you?”

He does as Alec instructs and quickly wanders off towards the drinks counter with a loud laugh, upbeat and light-hearted, attracting a few turned heads and stares as he goes; Alec catches a couple eyes thrown his way too and quickly shifts his focus back on the graffitied table in front of him.

There’s a few carvings and scrawls of text on the table that he recognises, and it only just occurs to him now that he and his friends seem to have a favourite booth, their names and initials scratched lovingly into the woodwork.

It’s not destruction of property or a criminal act, the café _allows_ such graffiti and actually provides pens and pencils for customers to doodle on their table of choice, but Alec still finds it _unnerving_ to leave such a prominent stain on the world, a seemingly permanent mark that points him out to anyone who happens to stumble upon this singular piece of wood.

His finger traces along the gentle curve of a _“y”_ at the end of a neatly-scripted reminder to him, left behind by none other than Izzy— _“Alec is stinky”._

A few minutes later a drink is being placed carefully in front of him, steam rising from the mug and partially obscuring his vision as Alec glances up from his daydreaming.

Magnus gracefully slides into the seat opposite him, a content smile on his face accompanied by the soft sounds of him humming to himself; Alec doesn’t recognise the tune, but he likes it regardless. Their legs almost tangle under the table and Alec carefully crosses his legs, shifting his position to take up as little room as possible. The booths are considerably smaller than the rest of the seating arrangements in the room, and it’s apparently a struggle just to sit two people— you can only _imagine_ the mess when his entire group of friends, as small as that group is, decide to try and squeeze into one booth.

(Jace always insists that it’s because of Alec and his long legs, and has _nothing at all_ to do with the fact that Jace demands to sit next to Alec, even though Alec is already sitting fairly squashed next to Izzy. They’ve _never_ found a way to make three people on one side of the table work, and Alec doubts they ever will.)

Magnus takes a sip of his drink—something that Alec can tell is overly sweet, the faint smell of vanilla drifting across the booth—and then leans forward slightly across the small table, his chin resting atop the backs of his palms.

“So, is a _“red eye”_ an Alexander exclusive,” he starts, tone teasing, “because the pretty blonde barista _immediately_ enquired about your presence.”

Alec makes a noise that he knows will haunt him if he thinks about it too much, an uncouth mixture between a laugh and a snort, so instead he looks down into the black abyss of his coffee and tries not to laugh again.

He’s also acutely aware of the exact _“pretty blonde barista”_ that Magnus is not-so-subtly bringing up.

“Lydia likes to joke that I’m the only customer _ever_ to order regular coffee,” he looks pointedly at Magnus’ drink resting on the table, now evident from the rich colour as a _caramel macchiato_.

Magnus sighs, feigning offence and dramatically pouting as he taps his manicured nails against the ceramic edge of his mug. Sitting closer to him now, and in the dim lighting of the café, Alec can spot the unmistakeable shimmer of gold eyeliner on Magnus’ lower lid, a signature look for him; if Alec has come to learn _anything_ about the other man in the short time they’ve known each other, it’s that he certainly knows how to appreciate _glitter_.

There also happens to be spare glitter resting loosely on Magnus’ cheekbones, fallout from his eye make-up, and it only serves to _enhance_ the glow of his tan complexion, to somehow make him look more otherworldly than he already does. He lifts his drink to take a slow sip—both hands wrapped around the mug in an uncharacteristically childish manner—and when he pulls the beverage away, he subtly runs his tongue along his lower lip.

Alec fixes his gaze down onto his own hands, resting casually atop the table.

“I like to be straightforward, Alexander.” Magnus says, and Alec immediately looks up at him through his lashes. “So, let’s hurry up and get the _boring_ business conversation over, shall we?”

He smiles gently and Alec huffs out a small sigh of relief. Relief over _what_ , he’s not exactly sure, but he feels his heartrate slow down to a normal pace and his chest is no longer constricted. Magnus pushes his drink aside and rests a hand on the table in front of him, his nails tapping against the wood rhythmically; not like in the awkward or nervous way that Alec usually fidgets, rather, it’s a _methodical_ gesture to indicate he’s thinking.

“I don’t want to hire just _anyone_ to take care of my Sweet Pea,” he begins, “and, luckily for you, Alexander, I don’t think you’re just _anyone_.”

Alec isn’t used to the soft tone that Magnus’ voice has taken on. He’s not at all _opposed_ to it, though.

“We have plenty of mutual acquaintances, and they all speak _very_ fondly of you,” Magnus grins, “but I’ve also never known Madzie to take a liking to someone so quickly as she did to you. She trusts you.”

He pauses and picks his drink back up, maintaining eye contact with Alec as he takes a sip, and Alec hopes that the burning he feels in his cheeks isn’t visible. He quickly reaches for his own mug and busies himself with taking a longer sip than necessary.

“ _I_ trust you, Alexander.” Alec tries not to choke. “I’d be very grateful if you were to accept my offer and agree to look after Madzie for me when I’m unavailable.”

Alec gently puts his mug back down on the table. He tries not to raise his eyebrows, or overreact in any way, but he knows he’s grinning probably a little too wide. Magnus either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, reclining into his seat and letting his feet kick against Alec’s with a knowing smirk.

“Of course,” Alec nods enthusiastically, “I’d love to, Magnus. Thank you.”

He watches Magnus shake his head, a small laugh slipping out as he does so, and he waves both of his hands in that all-too-familiar dismissive gesture.

“No, it’s _me_ who should be thanking _you_ , Mr. Lightwood.” Magnus winks and then starts to absently twist a finger around one of the long-chained necklaces he’s wearing. “Obviously we’ll take it slow at first, test the waters a little, _you know_.”

Alec doesn’t miss the innuendo; Magnus’ tone is _blatantly_ teasing, and if anything, Alec thinks it’s actually a little funny. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he subtly kicks Magnus’ foot, a rebuttal for the earlier kick he’d received.

“I’ll start you out with a couple of hours here and there before we move on to full days,” Magnus shrugs, “though, I trust that you’ll manage _fine_ , and of course I’ll pay you adequately.”

“Oh,” Alec suddenly sits up straight, “no, that’s alright, Magnus, I don’t—”

“Alexander.”

The seriousness of his tone cuts through any current train of thought that was swimming around in Alec’s head, a foggy mess of random words strung together, his mind nothing but a mess of _“money”_ , and _“trust”_ , and “ _finance”_ , and did he mention the _money_? Because he does _need_ the money, he can’t rely on Jace and Izzy forever, he can’t turn back to his parents and ask them for help with this; but he can’t expect Magnus to bend over backwards for him, to overpay him for a simple task that he’s actually _looking forward_ to doing—

“Alexander, I know what you’re thinking,” Magnus interrupts his zoning out, _again_ , “and you really needn’t worry, darling. I’m _sure_ I can afford you.”

And just like that, once again, it’s _fine_. Magnus perfectly cuts through the tension, through the nerves and the inevitable awkward front that Alec just can’t help putting up, knowing just what to say and the exact right tone to help dissipate any negativity.

Alec is ashamed to admit that he basically _snorts_ at the innuendo, quickly covering his face, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks and instead letting himself settle back into his seat. He takes his last sip of coffee, disappointingly cold now, and moves the mug to one side.

Magnus’ grin is evident around the rim of his own coffee mug and his brown eyes sparkle with something unknown, something _intriguing_ to Alec; though it could always be nothing, just the light reflecting off the glitter of his eye make-up.

The two sit in peaceful silence for a while— or as silent as _Java Jones’_ could possibly be in the early-afternoon of a Saturday, which is to say _not very_. There’re hardly any customers, but the chatter between the people that _are_ here is fairly loud; a few couples keep to themselves, their conversations kept at a regular indoor-level, but the group of teenagers sitting near the window are _loud_ , their jokes and laughter carrying across the entire room. Alec doesn’t mind it very much, if only because it reminds him of his own group of friends. Clary can get _surprisingly_ loud sometimes, if you offer her the correct conversation starters.

(A few of these, of course, are as follows: art history, _“the proper way to hold a pencil”_ , the current—and obviously _awful_ —name of Simon’s band, graphic novels and comics, B-list sci-fi movies, and any embarrassing story told by Izzy.)

Alec watches contently as Magnus finishes his drink and then starts to run a finger curiously across the table, following along with various paragraphs and sentences hastily scrawled along the wood. His mouth twitches a few times, smile widening ever so slightly every time, and Alec wishes he could read the upside-down markings from where he was sitting.

He _really_ wishes he could read the upside-down markings when Magnus bursts into a short bout of laughter, soft and sweet. It almost distracts him from where he can see Lydia approaching him, a gentle smile on her face as she unties the dark work apron she’s wearing.

“Hey, Alec,” she comes to a stop at the edge of their booth, apron folded neatly in her arms, and then nods towards Magnus in lieu of a greeting. “It’s fairly surprising to see you come in here with someone _other_ than your family.”

Alec instantly groans, and Magnus offers a small snort, his eyes staring pointedly to the side and his lips upturned into a smirk when Alec turns to glare at him.

“Well, there’s only _so_ many hours a day for which I can tolerate Jace,” he shrugs, grinning when she chuckles under her breath, “besides, Magnus and I are just here on business.”

Lydia perks up at that, something that Alec only recognises as _intrigue_ after knowing her for so long— he’s become accustomed to reading her barely-there expressions and understanding the _extremely_ specific meanings behind the slight nuances in the tone of her voice. He supposes knowing someone since _college_ can lead to that type of understanding of one another, especially when that someone is so similar to Alec in a way.

She arches a thin and perfectly sharp eyebrow as she looks between the two of them.

“Business?”

Before Alec can explain, Magnus leans forward onto his elbows, his mouth curling up on one side in a _devilish_ smirk that sends an uneasy shiver down Alec’s spine.

“ _Business_ ,” he repeats, “Alexander is my new pool boy.”

He winks at Lydia and she suddenly laughs, hand coming up to cover her mouth and stifle the noise. Alec’s face is _burning_.

“ _Magnus_ ,” he hisses, kicking at the other man’s shin under the table. He quickly turns back to Lydia, who stares anywhere but him as her shoulders shake from restrained laughter. “I’m _not_ a pool boy, Lydia.”

“Quite tragic, really.” Magnus sighs.

Alec watches him flutter his eyelashes dramatically and then wink again, at _him_ this time, and he forces himself to look away.

He _hears_ the rest of their conversation, can vaguely process the casual and _embarrassing_ discussion of _“Alec’s not one for making new friends”,_ but it doesn’t quite sink in and he can’t even find it in himself to care about the way Lydia is exposing him to a new acquaintance. Instead, Alec spends the next five or so minutes gazing into the distance—off to the empty far-right side of the café, so as not to unexpectedly stare at any strangers—and forces his cheeks to cool down, for his hands to stop shaking, his heartbeat to regulate.

A few more minutes pass before Lydia straightens up, adjusting the tightness of her ponytail and then nodding between Magnus and Alec, apparently back to business-mode; the more commonly seen side of Lydia, as opposed to the light-hearted and sweet side that Alec had eventually grown used to in the early years of their relationship.

“It was nice to meet you, Magnus,” she says, before turning to Alec with a small smile, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great. Let everyone know I said hey, would you?” She pauses, suddenly frowning, “and remind Jace he still owes me that fifteen dollars.”

Alec doesn’t even want to _begin_ unpacking that. He just nods, offers a small _“sure”,_ and then gives a lazy wave as she leaves; watching her head swiftly into the staff-only door at the back of the café.

When he turns back to Magnus, he’s hardly surprised to find eyes already on him. Magnus’ expression is amused, but _curious_ , his eyes narrowed as he stares far-too-quizzically at Alec; as if trying to look _through_ him and get a glimpse into his brain.

Alec isn’t sure if he likes it. It makes him feel raw. _Vulnerable_.

He sits up straighter and then hums questionably, more to himself than anything, a brief distraction from the deeply-settled anxiety in his stomach that permanently threatens to surface at even the _simplest_ of bothers.

“What?”

“She’s nice,” Magnus tilts his head in a random direction, vaguely gesturing to somewhere nondescript and clearly unworthy of his full attention, “ _Lydia_.”

Despite his forced nonchalance, there’s a slight smirk on his face, almost _knowing_ , and Alec suddenly feels smug that Magnus is _wrong_. His tone is teasing, the subtext and implication glaringly obvious to even the most socially-inept person—like Alec himself—and this isn’t the first time that Magnus has inquired about Alec’s love life.

He’s oddly overjoyed to be able to prove him wrong, for once.

“ _No_ ,” he raises a single finger and then shrugs, slightly defeated, because he’s only _partially_ wrong. “Lydia and I used to date back in college, but we’re just friends now.”

Something flickers across Magnus’ face, a brief shift in emotion that Alec can’t pinpoint even if he wanted to, because as quickly as it appears, it’s gone again; Magnus offers a tight-lipped smile as he glances aimlessly around the café.

“She seems unfitting for the role of a barista,” he says casually, and then rolls his eyes when Alec sends him a warning glare, “I simply mean, _Alexander_ , that she strikes me as a more _formal_ type of woman.”

Another perceptive victory for Magnus; though Lydia isn’t _that_ hard to read. Anyone with eyes could probably figure out that she’s not exactly the most _relaxed_ of people on the outside.

“You’re right,” it’s Alec’s turn to roll his eyes now as he ignores the sickly-sweet grin Magnus gives him in response to the praise, “she’s actually more of a business-woman— she’s the manager of this place. I’m _convinced_ she only takes the barista shifts because of the free coffee.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Magnus asks. “If you could receive free red eye’s whenever you felt like it.”

Alec hums, amused.

“Maybe. I doubt it pays as well as being a pool boy, though.”

He’s _ecstatic_ to watch Magnus suddenly stall, his eyes wide as he blinks dumbly; Alec feels proud to be able to render _Magnus Bane_ speechless. It only lasts a few seconds before the silence is interrupted and Magnus breaks off into a bubbly laugh, a noise that Alec doesn’t mind at all.

When he finally gets home, Alec is mildly surprised to hear the unmistakeable sound of _Simon_ yelling from the living room. He shouldn’t even react anymore, he thinks, because it’s becoming more and more common lately for him to find a collection of people in his house who don’t live there; Izzy is a given, and Clary’s presence goes hand-in-hand as Izzy’s girlfriend, but Simon’s visits have started to increase in frequency for some reason or another. Alec figures he shouldn’t question it.

He heads into the lounge, throwing his jacket onto one of the coat hangers as he passes them and then grimacing when it falls onto the floor instead. He takes a quick second to pick his jacket up, hanging it properly, and sets back on his quest of investigating the loud laughter and yelling that’s coming from the lounge— and then stops dead in his tracks upon entering the living room.

There are suddenly _several_ things to question, and while Alec knows he shouldn’t, he really _shouldn’t_ bother, he finds himself opening his mouth anyways.

“Would someone care to explain,” he slowly brings a hand up to rub at his temple, “why _Blade_ is _still_ on our TV?”

Simon glances up at him from where he’s lying across the sofa, head resting comfortably in Jace’s lap, and then he looks back at the TV like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

The realisation of the situation only seems to sink in after a _long_ stretch of silence, the longest single second of Alec’s life, and he really never thought he’d encounter the day where he got to see a double-take happen in real life. It’s funnier than he’d expect, especially from Simon of all people.

He bites back a smirk as Simon hurriedly scrambles up and out of Jace’s space, an over-dramatic flailing of limbs and rushed movements that only settle when Simon has decided he’s adequately far-enough away, sitting awkwardly and forcibly stiff at the complete opposite end of the sofa.

Jace hasn’t moved an inch, his legs splayed wide with the way he’s practically hanging off the couch and almost sliding onto the floor, the worst posture of all time and an even _worse_ shit-eating grin etched onto his face as he purposely continues to stare at the television.

“It’s _Blade III_ , actually,” he says, making Alec rolls his eyes, “how was your thing with Magnus?”

The movie continues to play as Alec sits down in the comically large space between Jace and Simon. He kicks his feet up onto the table in front of him, trying not to knock over any of the obviously half-full soda cans that balance precariously on the edge of the wood.

“It was good,” he shrugs casually, “we went to _Jones’_ , Lydia says hey. And also that you owe her money, and she’ll kill you if you don’t pay her back soon.”

Jace looks over at him, cautiously.

“She didn’t say that.”

Alec levels him with a bored stare, a response that could also be totally interpreted as “ _she did”_ , because the two of them _know_ that Lydia isn’t above threats of violence, _especially_ when it comes to Jace.

Their apparent staring competition—which they seem to have mutually and silently agreed upon—lasts for a few tense minutes until Jace gives in; tutting and sighing out a small “ _alright_ ”, something that Alec will take as confirmation that he’ll finally give Lydia the money he owes her for… _whatever_. Probably an ongoing coffee tab, or something equally as stupid.

He runs a hand through his hair and then starts to fidget with his earring before talking.

“I actually got the job, by the way.”

There’s sudden movement in his periphery, and Alec had _blissfully_ forgotten that Simon was even here. He quickly leans forward into view, his previous nerves and awkwardness long-gone as he pushes his glasses up his nose and beams happily at Alec.

“Hey! Congrats, man!”

Alec nods, still fidgeting, and breaks into a small smile. He’s knocked off guard, _literally_ , when Jace slaps him on the back a few times in that extremely heavy-handed way he does.

“I knew you’d get it!” He says excitedly, and then he sits back with a smug grin. “Now maybe _you_ can finally start contributing some take-out money.”

“Maybe _you_ can just stop buying take-out,” Alec provides, helpful as ever.

To his left, Simon snorts out an ugly laugh and a whisper of _“as if”_ , and Alec is mildly offended that the two would dare attempt to team-up in their bullying of him; he pushes it aside—as well as the lingering question of _“what_ exactly _is going on between you two?”_ —and instead opts for acknowledging the unspoken request in the previous jab, the weak attempt at slyly asking for food.

“I suppose I’ll pay this _one_ time, if I _really_ must,” he sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, “is Chinese okay?”

Simon cheers loudly, _too_ loudly and too close to Alec’s ear, and Jace leans across Alec to high-five him, neither of them providing a direct answer but the hollering and celebrating is as good as a confirmation as any; Alec wastes no time in calling in their usual order, minus a couple items here and there because of the lack of Izzy and Clary, but Simon’s presence _does_ mean a double order of egg rolls.

The evening continues on blissfully, a calm and content end to an equally relaxing day. A brief hiccup occurs when Alec has to forcibly pry the TV remote out of Simon’s hands and he _finally_ manages to turn off the horrible re-watch of a movie he’s already seen six- _thousand_ times—a movie that they’ve _all_ seen six-thousand times, thanks to Simon himself—but with no more _Blade_ droning on in the background, the night returns to its previous enjoyable atmosphere.

Jace ends up disappearing to the kitchen at some point, glancing down at his phone and then mumbling out a vague _“be right back”_ before pulling his arm away from where it rests casually over Simon’s shoulder, quickly heading out of the room and towards the hall; there’s a knock on the front door only a few minutes later, and Alec realises that Jace is not at all coming _“right back”,_ leaving Alec to pick up his near-empty wallet on the way to the door and reluctantly pay for their _entire_ takeout.

(Arguably, he knows that Jace will get the next one, or even just pay him back in a few days’ time with something menial like coffee or snacks, and Alec really doesn’t care as much as he pretends he does.)

The three of them soon get back to sitting in the lounge, Jace carrying in a few plates and pieces of cutlery from his brief vacation to the kitchen, and time flies by while in the presence of good company and while enjoying good food. Simon sits on the floor, his back to the couch and a plate of food balancing haphazardly atop his knees, the fork in his hand going ignored as he uses his other hand to pick up the egg rolls directly from his plate; Jace rummages around for the TV remote, searching down the side of the sofa cushions and not caring at all when his motions end up with him accidentally shoving Alec, and upon finding it, wastes _no_ time in flicking the channel over to the latest _Project Runway_ episode.

With the comfort of his friends around him, the usual entertaining and ruthless live-commentary coming from Jace—albeit around mouthfuls of half-chewed food—and the dorky snorts and choked-off laughs from Simon, Alec’s thoughts end up drifting to the distant acknowledgment that he has a job now, followed by the not-so-distant acknowledgment that he has a new _friend_ , and that it’s thanks to said new friend for giving him that job in the first place.

No one seems to notice the small smile on his face, _thankfully_ , because Jace would undoubtedly question or pester him about his _“rare”_ display of genuine emotion, and Alec would roll his eyes and frown and try not to smile even harder at his brother’s thinly-veiled attempt at being supportive of him. His grin softens as he absently stirs his chopsticks around in his noodles.

For the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time in _forever_ , Alec thinks he could finally, _finally_ , be on the path to finding out what happiness—or the closest thing—feels like.


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he finally stops coughing, unceremoniously wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he turns to face Alec with a calculating stare; the type of gaze that means for once in his life, Jace is _actually_ thinking.
> 
> “A friend?” He asks, eyebrows raising and mouth suddenly breaking into a dangerously wide grin. “You, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, managed to make a _friend_ in less than a week?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i'm sorry for a later than usual update, i've been super busy today! speaking of, i probably won't update next week? i need a lil more time because i've got a lot going on right now!! in 2 weeks time though i promise :-) thank you all for sticking with me and we'll be back to consistence soon
> 
> anyways hope you're all having a nice day and everything! sending my love <3

Sunday, so far, is pretty boring and uneventful.

In general, Alec’s entire life at the moment is uneventful. He supposes that’s the downside to being unemployed— _formerly_ unemployed, technically—and hardly sociable, but he doesn’t exactly mind it. He’s still not a party person, and he doubts he ever will be, so spending time by himself or with the few friends he has is always going to be enough for him.

Despite his previous readiness to call himself and Magnus friends, he briefly wonders if they _are_ actually friends. If it’s mutual, in a sense, or if Alec is just being weirdly hopeful.

They’re beyond acquaintances, Alec thinks, but is he being too presumptuous to assume that someone he’s only known for a couple of days is his _friend_ , that Magnus views him as a friend too— if he even _wants_ to be Alec’s friend? Maybe he considers this a strictly professional relationship, a business-only type of deal; though Alec knows that the _last_ thing to happen in a professional relationship would be flirting.

He’s not _stupid_.

Alec is bad at making friends; he’s bad at talking to people, he’s bad at making jokes without being too sarcastic or dry or plain rude, he’s bad at reading social cues, and he’s _terrible_ at physical affection and being close to people.

Even with all this, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out when Magnus Bane is flirting— which is _all of the time_ , apparently. Alec thinks it’s entertaining.

It’s clearly not aimed at him _personally_ , Magnus isn’t coming on to him—not like Alec would have any reason to believe that he would in the first place; he’s not Jace, overtly confident and cocky—it’s obviously just how he _is_ ; his tone is constantly teasing, he prefers to use nicknames and cutesy pet-names rather than someone’s real name, the innuendos are constant, and he punctuates half of his sentences with a wink or a smirk.

It’s _interesting_ , to say the least.

But Alec likes to think that they’re friends, if nothing else. He doesn’t think an acquaintance would trust him to look after his child— he hopes not, anyways, because that’s irresponsible parenting. Alec would know _all_ about that.

He’s happy to be able to add someone else to his tight-knit list of friends, and it really helps given the situation; Izzy is swamped with important work back at home, Clary and Simon are students too, and Jace is a full-time personal trainer. He _does_ know other people besides those five, of course. Or, well, he knows _two_ other people, but Alec doesn’t know to what extent he could call them _friends_ — he’s quickly realising this whole thing might be a recurring self-doubt he has about himself.

Regardless, Lydia is nice, and when Alec first bumped into her at _Java Jones’_ it was a _shock_ , to put it lightly. They lost contact after college, not long after they’d broken up—they had ended things amicably, it was just a lack of keeping in touch—and Alec almost laughed at the coincidence that they’d both ended up moving to the same area of Brooklyn. He probably stops by the café _weekly_ just to say hey. He _unfortunately_ doesn’t have the kind of budget in life that allows for weekly overpriced coffees, as Jace keeps so frequently reminding him.

There’s also Maia, who really is just an acquaintance. Not in a bad way, Alec _likes_ her, but he hardly ever visits the _Hunter’s Moon_ and when he does he stays as _far_ away from the busyness of the bar as he can. But Maia is sarcastic and witty and she looks badass; Alec knows the two of them would get along well if he had the opportunity to spend more than five minutes every six months with her. Maybe he will, one day.

He’s willing to admit that he gets bored sometimes, _lonely_ , and he’s mildly excited for this opportunity to _finally_ occupy some of his endless free time, give him something to do and distract his brain from running a mile-a-minute with negative thoughts and things he doesn’t need (or _want_ ) to think about.

His apartment is currently empty for once, Jace is at work and Simon left early this morning after _another_ night of staying over, and this all leaves Alec with a very characteristic situation of having _nothing_ to do. There’re only so many times he can re-arrange the books in his bedroom and classify it as _“tidying up”,_ especially when he would end up distracted by whichever book he picked out and waste several hours actually _reading_ it.

There’s a short buzz in his hoodie pocket and Alec pulls his phone out with a sigh, expecting something nonsensical from Jace or Simon, a stupid message in the group chat that he never agreed to be a part of.

 **Magnus Bane** (15:07)  
Alexander, what are you up to today?

Alec frowns down at his phone. He taps out a simple reply and doesn’t know whether to be surprised or not that he gets a response instantly.

 **You** (15:08)  
not much  
why?

 **Magnus Bane** (15:08)  
You should come over  
We made cake, if that sways your judgement at all

He snorts and glances around the empty lounge, the muted re-run of some reality show continuing to be ignored as it plays on the TV, the overt tidiness and silence invoking a dull sense of loneliness in him; it takes less than a second for him to text back a casual _“omw”_ and grab his backpack off the coffee table before he heads out.

The distant sound of faint music is the first thing Alec hears when he steps out of the elevator, and it only continues to get louder as he approaches Magnus’ apartment. It’s muffled behind the door, but Alec knows it’s something upbeat and fun, probably a choice made by Madzie; not like he can say for sure though, because Alec doesn’t exactly know all that much about Magnus, certainly not the type of music he likes.

A few short minutes pass after he knocks the door and he wonders for a second if he should knock again, considering that maybe he wasn’t heard over the music, but the apartment suddenly goes silent and the door quickly swings open.

Magnus is dressed down for once, shockingly enough. Alec would call it casual but he doesn’t think it rings true; Magnus _never_ seems to look casual, like there’s always a certain flair to him no matter how effortless his appearance might seem. A dark slim-fit t-shirt stretches snugly across his torso and he appears to be lacking his usual necklaces— his rings are still present though, the gold sparkling and the beautiful colours of the stones standing out against the monochrome of his outfit, his black shirt and light grey sweatpants.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to come over so quickly, Alexander,” he teases, “now that I know you have a sweet tooth, it’d be easy to lure you anywhere.”

Alec rolls his eyes as he looks up, biting back his grin when he finds Magnus smirking at him. There’s a familiar hint of glitter along his cheekbones, just a light sprinkling of it catching in the soft light of the apartment hallway, and a dark smudge of eyeliner on his lower lids; _if this is his “casual”,_ Alec muses, _I wonder what his “formal” look would entail_.

“You wouldn’t,” Alec shrugs, letting himself wander into the loft when Magnus steps to the side, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The sweet smell of baked goods wafts through the air and Alec is _immediately_ glad he had nothing to do today. Izzy would be _so_ jealous to know that he’s enjoying free snacks and good company while she’s stuck studying and dissecting bodies; Jace would probably tell him he needs to get back to the gym instead of eating junk, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him— plus, he’s not exactly the best role model when it comes to healthy eating.

Something pushing against his legs snaps his attention down to the floor, where Alec is amazed to find a cat weaving between his legs. He crouches down slowly, cautiously holding a hand out into the air, and beams when the cat gently nuzzles its face against his palm. It takes everything in Alec to not pick the animal up and baby it; instead he stays where he is, listening closely to the almost inaudible purrs and letting his black jeans slowly collect cat hair.

“ _Ah_ ,” Magnus’ voice is soft, “I see you’ve met my _other_ baby, and it appears he likes you.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Alec carefully stands back up and ignores the pain he feels in his joints, _he’s too young for this shit_ , “what’s his name?”

The cat wanders off in a direction that Alec knows is towards the kitchen, almost leading the way for them as Magnus follows along with a quiet chuckle. Alec figures he should follow too. It helps that the scent of chocolate gets stronger with each step he takes.

“He’s royalty, actually,” Magnus idly grabs two mugs out of a cupboard as he talks, and then levels Alec with a serious stare before continuing, “Chairman Meow.”

Alec freezes in his movements, half-seated on a stool at the counter, and looks at Magnus with wide eyes.

“You…” He narrows his gaze as he continues, “named your cat… _Chairman Meow_?”

Magnus hums, nodding casually and turning back around to reach for a box of tea on one of the high shelves along the wall, his t-shirt riding up an inch or two when he stretches. Alec can’t get over the completely blasé attitude towards this situation.

He lets out a sudden laugh, an ugly snort more than anything else, and shakes his head when Magnus turns to grin at him.

“Don’t you dare laugh at the Chairman, Alexander.”

The Chairman, as if sensing the conversation about him, makes his presence known again, hopping up onto the countertop and then droppings himself down in between where Alec is resting his arms along the marble. Magnus scoffs in mock offence and flicks the switch on the kettle, and Alec shifts all of his attention to the cat in front of him.

He’s small, _tiny_ even, and his short legs combined with his size do nothing to help the pudginess around his face and belly. Alec is ashamed to admit that in such a short period of time—literally five minutes—he might have fallen a _little_ bit in love with this cat. He spends the next few minutes petting The Chairman, trying not to look too enamoured, but it’s difficult when he’s so soft and _cute_.

Magnus soon gets his attention by placing a mug down on the countertop, the sharp clink startling Chairman Meow into quickly leaving, and Alec tries not to pout or gaze longingly as he watches the cat leave the kitchen.

The mug is slid further in front of him as Magnus pushes it slowly with one finger, black-polished nails a stark contrast against the white ceramic of the cup, and there’s a small grin on his face hidden behind his own mug as he takes a sip of what Alec can only assume is tea. He looks down into his own drink, past the rising steam, and bites back a laugh at the undeniable blackness of pure coffee.

“Where’s Madzie?” He asks, wrapping his hands around the mug and relishing in the warmth.

“I’m surprised you’re not asking about the cake,” Magnus puts his drink down, “which, actually—”

He trails off, distracted, turning to the fridge and dramatically swinging the door open. A tupperware container full of cupcakes is placed onto the countertop and Alec stares in awe.

“Anyways, Sweet Pea is around here somewhere,” Magnus continues talking, “if she’d have heard you come in, she would have bombarded you in _seconds_. She’s excited to see you!”

Alec looks up slowly.

“Are these for me?”

Magnus seems lost for a second, an uncommon occurrence for him, and then blinks a few times in recognition. He shakes his head as he chuckles softly.

“ _Yes_ , Alexander, they’re for you.” He carefully pushes the cupcakes towards Alec. “I’d lie and tell you that I made too many, but the truth is simply that I _wanted_ to make them for you.”

There’s a mixed variety of cakes in the box, only the frosting is visible but there’s some vanilla and some chocolate, a few with sprinkles and toppings that look like they were pushed on by the small clumsy hands of a child. Alec feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest. He can’t remember the last time anyone outside of his family has ever bought him a gift— let alone _baked_ him something.

“Thanks, Magnus,” he says softly.

They continue to sit in comfortable silence for a while, Alec vaguely distracted as he idly runs a finger around the rim of his coffee mug, his head— _and his heart_ —swamped with varying thoughts, thoughts of friendship and affection and _warmth_ ; Magnus grins at him from behind his mug, his brown eyes focused entirely on Alec, dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he takes an almost deliberately slow sip of his tea.

Alec feels his thoughts shift elsewhere for a very brief second, to somewhere far from friendship and closer to _intimacy_ , the admittance that Magnus is an attractive man, and the lingering intrigue of wanting to explore that further constantly playing on Alec’s mind whether he likes it or not.

(He doesn’t. He _knows_ he shouldn’t be thinking about such things, that he doesn’t know the first thing about Magnus and it’s wrong to include him in these _pointless_ fantasies— which is all they are and ever will be. Alec has enough problems as it is without needing to delve into _that_ one.)

The sound of footsteps against the kitchen linoleum stirs Alec from his daze, and he looks over to find Madzie happily padding into the room. A wide smile breaks out on her face when she spots him, immediately diverting from her path of walking towards Magnus and instead stopping a short distance away from where Alec is sitting.

He hears Magnus gasp, faux annoyance, followed by a quiet whisper of _“rude, Sweet Pea”_ , and he tries not to laugh at that.

“Hi Alec,” Madzie’s voice is gentle, and the way she twirls one of her feet and pointedly stays behind a nearby bar stool is enough to indicate her nervousness, that she’s _obviously_ still shy; but there’s something else too, her eyes wide and almost sparkling when she beams excitedly at him.

Alec wants to cry. She’s just _so_ _cute_.

He offers her a casual wave, quickly putting his now-finished coffee down and swivelling around on the stool to face her properly.

“Hey Madzie,” he points at her pigtails, “I like your hair.”

She giggles, tiny fingers twirling around a few strands of her curly hair, and then she’s climbing up onto the stool next to Alec. It takes her a few minutes but she seems well-informed on how to adjust the height of the seat, as if she’s frequently clambering to sit at the countertop; given Magnus’ _excellent_ baking skills and apparent love for hot drinks, it’s likely that she spends a lot of time in the kitchen with him.

Though as soon as she’s seated, feet dangling lazily where they can’t quite reach the floor, Magnus makes his way around the counter and effortlessly sweeps her up, a single arm wrapping securely around her waist as he spins her around on her gentle descent back to the ground. She’s laughing happily, a chubby hand grasped loosely around Magnus’ wrist, and he rolls his eyes when he looks down at her.

“Sweet Pea, you _know_ what I said about sitting at the counter,” his voice wavers like he’s fighting back a grin and he turns to Alec with a quick wink, “she likes to steal cookies when she thinks I’m not looking—”

“I do _not!”_

She puts her hands on her hips and pouts. _Dramatically_. Alec instantly knows where she gets it from.

“You do _too!_ Now come on,” Magnus leans down and picks her up, one hand around her back and the other holding under her knees, “we’re going to watch some television.”

He tilts his head for Alec to follow as he heads into the lounge, easily carrying Madzie in his well-toned arms—Alec isn’t sure if asking about that is weird or not, but he’s sort of dying to know how and _why_ an antiques curator is so buff—and he rambles quietly to her as she laughs and swings her legs.

She’s soon lowered to the floor when they get into the lounge and she _immediately_ runs to gather some paper and colouring supplies, laying them out on the coffee table in front of the TV—playing some sort of children’s cartoon—and getting right into it.

Magnus swiftly drops onto the sofa with a sigh and lounges in a way that Alec would deem uncharacteristically casual of him, _uncouth_ in a way. He always has a certain flair to him, polished and refined, even the simplest flick of a wrist or a dainty hand movement always seems so well-rehearsed, an ever-present air of elegance and flamboyancy; to watch him today, casual sweatpants sitting low on his hips as he meanders through his vaguely messy apartment—Madzie’s doing, most likely—and drinking tea from a chipped mug; there’s something more _relaxed_ about him than when the two first met.

Alec thinks that’s a good sign. To be able to be comfortable enough around someone to let your guard down slightly— Izzy would tell him he’s overthinking it again and remind him to just let it _be_ , that he needs to stop doubting his friendships with people.

“Alexander,” Magnus smirks up at him, “while I very much appreciate your staring at me, I would also appreciate it if you took a seat. I won’t bite, I promise.”

A subtle heat rises to Alec’s cheeks as Magnus purposely winks at him, the sharpness of his canines just slightly dragging along his lower lip as his smirk widens, and Alec busies himself with sitting down in the most drawn-out way possible, gently tossing his backpack onto the ground as he prays for the embarrassing redness to drain from his face.

If he’s sitting awkwardly, too close or too far away from Magnus, his posture weird or his face still flushed, his fingers still subconsciously picking at the fabric of his t-shirt— he tries not to dwell on it.

Thankfully, Magnus doesn’t seem to notice as he leans forward to grab the TV remote off the table, flicking the channel over to one hosting some sort of reality show—Alec briefly wonders what it is with the people he’s friends with and their love for reality TV—and then slyly eyeing Madzie to make sure she hasn’t picked up on the change in channel.

She hasn’t, only continuing to sit at the table and flip her hair away from her face every so often as she draws. Chairman Meow wanders aimlessly past her and then loops back around to step into her lap, nuzzling his face against her shirt and purring loudly when she uses her free hand to start petting him.

A cute cat and a cute kid, Alec doesn’t know how he’s ever going to cope with babysitting such a duo.

Magnus kicks one of his legs over the other and stares at Alec for a few seconds, eyes narrow and gaze almost scrutinizing, and Alec hums in question.

“You don’t talk very much, Alexander.”

Alec nervously scratches the back of his neck. He wants to argue that _actually_ , he’s talked to Magnus more than he usually _ever_ talks to new acquaintances, that it took him weeks—months maybe—to start revealing personal information about himself to Clary and Simon; Alec had already willingly discussed his ex-girlfriend in only a few days of knowing Magnus— in fact, his ex-girlfriend had _met_ Magnus.

If he had an explanation for his shift in behaviour, he’d address it. He doesn’t. He supposes he could chalk it entirely down to that casual aura that Magnus has, something that makes Alec feel _comfortable_.

“I’m not that great at making friends,” he shrugs, “or socialising in general, really.”

He receives a small laugh in return, almost like a quick exhale of breath and nothing more, and then Magnus waves a hand casually. Alec watches him change his seating position, turning slightly and pulling both his legs up onto the couch to sit cross-legged; he doesn’t look down at where Magnus’ knee brushes against his thigh.

“You could have fooled me. You’re doing an excellent job,” he looks over at Madzie and smiles, “Sweet Pea is fairly shy too, but she seems to click with you. Which, speaking of—”

He turns the volume on the TV down, not like either of them were watching it to begin with, and then faces Madzie.

“Hey honey,” he starts, only continuing when she peers up at him and pauses in her important task of colouring, “would you like it if Alec looked after you for a little bit tomorrow? While I’m at work?”

Alec notices the way Magnus had said _“Alec”_ rather than _“Alexander”,_ and he kind of hates it.

She immediately nods, a wide smile breaking out as she looks over at Alec with unrestrained excitement, and he finds himself smiling back. He hears Magnus laugh lightly by his side.

“Well, this is all going to be easier than expected,” he says, and Alec nods in somewhat-amazed agreement.

“We’re going to have _so_ much fun,” he says to Madzie, quickly glancing back at Magnus before leaning closer to her and dropping his voice to a whisper, as if sharing a secret, “maybe we can steal some cookies from the kitchen.”

He punctuates it with an over-dramatic wink and Madzie bursts into giggles, doing her best attempt at winking back—more of a forced blink than anything else—and then sticking her tongue out at Magnus. Alec can’t help the genuine laugh that sneaks out, covering his mouth quickly to stifle it.

Magnus only rolls his eyes in response, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s holding back a smile. Alec comfortably settles back into the sofa, letting himself relax more than he was before, and Madzie happily goes back to drawing as she quietly hums a song to herself. Just to the side of Alec, the couch shifts a little with barely-there movement.

“How _traitorous_ of you, Alexander.” Magnus leans towards him just enough to be able to whisper and still be heard, dark eyes narrow and lips upturned into a slight smirk.

Before Alec can react, before he can even gulp or breathe or _blink_ , Magnus is gone. He instantly sits back into his own space, kicking his feet up onto an empty portion of the coffee table so as not to disrupt Madzie, and simply fidgets with his ear cuff as his eyes drift to the television once again. The sharp edge of his grin is still visible amongst his otherwise-soft side profile, facial hair neatly trimmed around his mouth and along his jawline; Alec shakes it off as best as he can manage and focuses his thoughts elsewhere.

The two of them—three, if including the minor interruptions by Madzie, and _four_ with the attention-stealing antics of Chairman Meow—continue to happily hang out for hours, Alec throwing his initial awkwardness aside after a few short minutes, aided by the fact that Magnus is an _excellent_ conversationalist; they talk about everything and nothing, with _ease_ , from their favourite TV shows to how Izzy is getting on and every possible stop in between.

(Alec learns, amongst many things, that Magnus is nearly thirty years old, he doesn’t have a specific favourite colour because he can’t choose just one, that he’s fluent in _several_ languages, and that Chairman Meow is Magnus’ only cat but he does have _plenty_ of strays that he may or may not feed whenever they inevitably come back to his balcony.)

They discuss work too, though it’s _subtle_ , as if Magnus is sneakily peppering tiny pieces of information into conversation to avoid being too daunting; it’s nothing much, completely different to how Alec’s parents would prepare him for watching over Max when the two of them would go out for an evening or have busy days at work— which is that they would methodically _rant_ for what felt like hours, going through a step-by-step guide of how to behave around him, around his own _brother_ , the very specific times of when he’s allowed to eat or have snacks, the un-negotiable bedtime.

Magnus didn’t do that, instead just casually mentioning a few comments here and there, off-hand lines in a conversation like _“there’s always going to be leftovers for you in the fridge”_ and _“Sweet Pea likes fruit as a snack and I’m not just telling you that to try and be healthy, she really does, I promise”_ — Madzie had looked up at that, hearing her nickname, and then proved Magnus’ point by asking for some apple slices; Alec had laughed.

Eventually, and unfortunately, Alec knows he has to leave at some point. His phone informs him that it’s nearing 6, and soon enough he’s going to be receiving a mass of texts from Jace asking where he is and when he’s coming back, because Jace _knows_ that Alec would never stay out without at least telling him first (and he also knows that the only place Alec ever stays is the occasional night or two at Clary’s).

He must have been staring down at his phone for a suspiciously long amount of time, or it’s just that Magnus could easily figure out why Alec had decided to pull his phone out; he hopes it didn’t come across as a rude gesture, checking the time while in someone else’s company, but Magnus just hums and casually stands up.

Alec ignores the sudden loss of warmth at his side and quickly gets up too.

“I’m sorry, I should probably go before Jace starts calling me,” he waves his phone awkwardly and then slides it into his pocket, “he’ll probably just starve if someone isn’t there to help him decide what to have for dinner.”

Magnus grins, seemingly unbothered by Alec’s sudden departure—doesn’t think he’s rude, thankfully—and shakes his head.

“Not at all,” he shrugs, “I’d love to keep you around for myself, but I’m afraid I’d just be being selfish.”

Madzie jumps down off the armchair she’s sitting in, glancing between Alec and Magnus and then pouting.

“Where are you going?” She asks, and Magnus fondly rolls his eyes.

“Alec has to go home now, Sweet Pea,” she starts to frown, “but you’ll see him tomorrow, and more after that.”

She pauses, raising a hand to her chin and then narrowing her eyes as if considering something important, and eventually just nods and climbs back up onto her chair. Her feet kick against it rhythmically and she casually waves.

“Okay. Bye-bye, Alec!”

Alec waves back with a small response of _“bye-bye”_ and quickly pulls a face at her, sticking his tongue out and grinning when she immediately does it back.

Before he leaves, Alec feels himself hesitating once he’s outside the apartment, loitering in the doorway and finding Magnus doing the same; he’s leaning against the doorframe with one shoulder, ankles crossed and his arms folded across his chest. He tilts his head as he throws Alec a tiny smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…” he glances up towards the ceiling like in thought, “at three-thirty?”

It’s posed as a question, a subtle chance for a get-away, for Alec to change his mind about all of this and leave while he still can— as if he ever would. He’s mildly offended at the offer, or he _would_ be, if he didn’t already know that it’s coming from a place of genuine care and acknowledgement of Alec’s feelings; which he’ll admit is something that he’s not entirely used to.

“Yeah,” he nods, “that sounds good to me.”

The corner of Magnus’ mouth twitches, his smile stretching into a slightly larger grin, and he straightens up before nodding back.

“Great! I’ll see you then. Bye, Alexander.”

“See ya, Magnus.”

As soon as he gets home, his previous suspicions are immediately confirmed when he’s greeted with an over-dramatic shout of _“Alec! I’m staaarving!”_ from somewhere in the apartment. He sighs, kicking his boots off near the door, and follows the whining into the lounge.

There he finds Jace, on the floor, lying on his back; long-sleeves of his t-shirt pulled down over his hands where his arms are flung above his head, his blonde hair tousled messily as if he’s been rolling around there for hours— Alec wouldn’t at all be surprised if he actually has been. Jace has a tendency to get bored without someone around to keep him company.

“ _Finally_ ,” he groans, starting to get up, years of fitness training meaning he can easily pull himself into a sit-up, “I was starting to think you’d been murdered, or something.”

“Yeah, because I left our apartment to go get murdered,” Alec deadpans, stepping over Jace’s legs and throwing himself down onto the sofa, dropping his backpack down beside him, “you know that the only person who’d be capable of murdering me is Izzy.”

Jace scoffs, awkwardly climbing up off the floor and then wasting no time in slumping onto the sofa, sitting himself down next to Alec and kicking his feet up onto their slightly dirty coffee table.

“I’m fairly confident I could kill you,” he starts rooting around for the TV remote amongst the cushions and Alec scowls at him, “but, that’s irrelevant. Where were you? And, more importantly, did you bring food back?”

He remembers that he _did_ bring food back, sort of, if cupcakes can be an adequate stand-in until Alec decides to get up and make them both some real dinner. He drags his backpack into his lap, carefully pulling out the tupperware box that he had precariously placed in there before leaving Magnus’ and had arranged in such a way that none of the cakes would fall or be squashed.

“I was at Magnus’,” he drops his bag back down and ignores Jace’s small noise of inquiry, an overly-casual hum, “ _and_ I have cakes, if that’s good enough for you.”

Alec can hardly pop the lid off the tub before Jace is leaning over and reaching in, quickly grabbing one of the chocolate cupcakes and narrowly avoiding Alec smacking at his hand.

“You hang out with Magnus a lot lately, job aside,” Jace greedily and messily shoves almost the entire cake into his mouth and continues talking around the food, “’m not complaining, if he bakes like this.”

There’s a movie playing on the TV, Alec doesn’t know what it is but he’s just glad it isn’t one of Simon’s— there’s been too many occasions of Alec turning the TV on and automatically being greeted to a pause-screen of a DVD that Simon has accidentally left inside the PS4; which _also_ happens to be his, coincidentally.

Alec picks one of the cakes out, one with rainbow sprinkles that must have been haphazardly thrown on by no-one other than Madzie, and then puts the entire box onto the coffee table.

“He’s a friend,” Alec stares at his hands as he spends _far_ too long methodically peeling the wrapper off his cupcake, “ _besides_ , I’m babysitting his daughter. I should probably get to know him.”

Jace almost chokes, which serves him right for eating like a pig.

When he finally stops coughing, unceremoniously wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he turns to face Alec with a calculating stare; the type of gaze that means for once in his life, Jace is _actually_ thinking.

“A friend?” He asks, eyebrows raising and mouth suddenly breaking into a dangerously wide grin. “You, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, managed to make a _friend_ in less than a _week?”_

His tone is light, playful, and Alec groans, rolling his eyes and sinking down further into the couch. Jace continues on.

“This is _amazing_. I’m calling Iz—”

“Shut up, Jace.”

“—I’m calling everyone I know.”

Alec holds back a smile and ignores the dorky grin that Jace sends his way; a soft reminder that he’s kidding, but his persistence and his way of joking being something Alec that has heard plenty of times of before and confirms that Jace really _does_ find it amazing, that he’s actually being genuine and he’s _proud_ of Alec— for something as menial as making a friend, _sure_ , but Alec will accept it.

He takes a small bite out of his cake, finally getting to try it and praying Jace doesn’t empty out the whole box in the meantime, and then immediately laughs. It’s good— _of course_ it is, Magnus made it—but there’s something else too, when Alec caught a glimpse of the inside of the vanilla sponge, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone out of his hoodie pocket as he continues eating.

 **You** (18:12)  
you were right

 **Magnus Bane** (18:13)  
I usually am, but I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me this time

 **You** (18:13)  
i guess i am a funfetti guy


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus returns his gaze to Alec after a few seconds. “Which, speaking of, can I request your services tomorrow? And maybe Wednesday too— if you’re available, of course.”
> 
> “Sure,” Alec says, “I’m always available.” 
> 
> He _immediately_ regrets how eager he sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know when i said this was going to be slow burn? i mean it y'all. there's gonna be a lot of alec spending time with his family and bonding and all that cute filler stuff alongside the main romance. i'm cheesy and like writing lightwood family shenanigans (also thank you all for being patient with me for the missed upload last week! we're back on schedule now <3)

The next day, Alec arrives at Magnus’ place perfectly on time, shoving his car keys into the pocket of his jeans as he nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other. This is essentially his first day of work, Magnus won’t be around to watch over how he interacts with Madzie, and he’s more than a little nervous to be left alone in someone else’s house with their child and cat, even if it _is_ only for a couple of hours.

Magnus promptly lets him in, opening the door with a cheerful greeting of _“Alexander”_ and stepping aside, but Alec will admit—not for the first time—that he’s instantly distracted by Magnus’ appearance; he’s wearing a suit, or he will be, the jacket currently folded over his arm neatly— it is quite hot outside, Alec notes. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, as is apparently typical Magnus fashion when wearing a shirt, and it’s tucked carefully into a slim pair of navy trousers.

But his clothes aren’t exactly the thing drawing Alec’s attention, as nice as Magnus looks in business attire, it’s actually his _hair_ ; where his blonde highlights and streaks used to be, they’re now electric blue, almost perfectly matching the colour of his suit.

He runs a ring-covered hand through the new streaks, laughing lightly.

“It’s only chalk, Alexander, don’t worry.”

“Chalk?” Alec asks, confused, and steps into the loft.

The door closes behind him and Magnus quickly appears at his side, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and grinning to himself. The gold of his eyeshadow catches in the warm lighting of the hallway, a subtle shine, and his eyelashes appear thicker than usual when he peers up at Alec.

“Hair chalk,” he clarifies, even though that still means absolutely _nothing_ to Alec, “try not to get too attached to a specific colour, darling, I’m afraid I tend to change it weekly.”

He winks, and Alec’s heart stutters in its otherwise-regular rhythm; he should be used to being winked at by now, considering how often it happens, but he’s _not_ ; so he blames it on the lighting, or the proximity, or the way Magnus’ eyeliner is winged sharply at the edges. He looks _good_ , is all.

“I’ll only be gone for an hour or two,” Magnus continues, kneeling down to zip his boots up, “I try to get all my work done during the day, while Madzie is at school, but, _you know_.”

He trails off, dismissively waving a hand and standing back up to gracefully slip his jacket on. Alec wishes he hadn’t, because seeing Magnus in a suit is doing _something_ to his feelings, and he tries his best to listen rather than dwell on the churning in his stomach or the sudden clamminess of his hands.

They walk further into the apartment, Magnus aimlessly talking about something, work probably, and Alec wonders why he’s still here instead of leaving to get _back_ to said work.

Madzie sits on the sofa in the lounge, casually kicking her small feet as she sips on a juice box, and it takes her a few seconds to tear her eyes away from the TV and finally notice Alec’s presence. He smiles at her, offering a quick wave, and she grins back before turning to the television once again. _Well_ , at least babysitting her is going to be easy.

“I know you’re familiar with the lounge and kitchen,” Magnus says, almost teasingly, and Alec snaps his attention to him, “but Sweet Pea likes to wander, and for convenience sake you should probably become acquainted with the rest of the apartment.”

Alec nods, agreeing, and tries not to laugh when Magnus giddily whispers _“house tour!”_ and starts walking in a seemingly random direction.

If Alec had any assumptions or pre-conceived notions about Magnus’ loft, he quickly throws them away as he realises that he’s _certainly_ not prepared for the magnitude of rooms that are in this place. Compared to his own apartment, a simple two-bed with one bathroom—which he obviously and _unfortunately_ shares with Jace—Magnus’ apartment should be more accurately described as a _mansion_.

Where Alec has an average lounge, just a sofa and a coffee table in front of a TV, plus the plethora of game consoles that belong to Simon, Magnus has a huge open space; the walls are mostly brickwork with a few columns for decoration, and a large couch and similarly-sized armchair sit near a wide-screen TV, not mentioning the sitting space in the centre of the room and the rows and _rows_ of bookshelves and cabinets that seem to line every free inch of wall.

Similarly, Alec has an average kitchen, or a below-average kitchen really, but he has what he likes to think is a regular kitchen. Magnus doesn’t. Magnus has an _extremely_ above-average kitchen—Magnus has an extremely above-average everything, really—with fancy appliances and apparently endless supplies of herbs and spices and various cooking ingredients; it makes sense, given his skill in baking, that he’d have a nice kitchen— though Magnus isn’t a chef, as he revealed to Alec during their first meeting, and so maybe it _doesn’t_ make sense after all.

But Alec already knew of the fanciness of these two rooms, he’s become well-adjusted to the stylishly-cluttered decorating style and the expensive-looking art hung on the walls, the tiny trinkets and ornaments and things that are definitely antiques placed carefully on any available surface. For a second, he wonders how Magnus _actually_ manages to keep all of this in a presentable fashion when he has a child running around, and then he remembers the mess of art supplies strewn all over the floor yesterday, so maybe he just tidies up a _lot_.

What Alec _isn’t_ adjusted to, however, is the rooms he’s just now finding out about, of which there’s a lot: a designated study, or office space, somehow with even more books and plenty of objects safely kept up high; Madzie’s bedroom, the walls pink and sparkly, glittery transparent curtains hanging from a four-poster bed and plushies covering every square-inch of available space; a spare bedroom, unfittingly sparse and empty compared to everything else; and Magnus’ room, the master bedroom, which Alec didn’t spend too long inspecting, despite the way Magnus had swung the door open and began happily describing his walk-in closet.

It felt too personal, in a way. Like Alec didn’t have the _right_ to intrude in someone else’s bedroom, even if they allowed it.

The two of them eventually find themselves out on the balcony, and Alec was unsurprised to find even _this_ is larger than he thought it would be; it loops from Magnus’ bedroom back round to the lounge, and there are plants and flowers everywhere, perfectly cared for and growing beautifully up towards the incoming sunlight. Alec smiles at the bowls of water on the floor as he remembers the stray cats.

Magnus’ phone suddenly starts to ring, startling Alec, and Magnus grins at him when he jumps. Alec simply rolls his eyes in response.

“Hello—” Magnus immediately cuts himself off, glancing at Alec as if he, too, is a part of the conversation and can understand.

He _can’t_ , obviously, but he raises an eyebrow anyways and then smirks when Magnus starts to silently mouth along, mimicking with his hand in an endearingly petulant gesture.

“I’m simply showing Alexander around my apartment,” Magnus starts again, “in case he happens to need something. Is that not permitted?”

He pauses, listening, and leans back against the railing of his balcony. After a few short seconds he sighs and moves his phone to his other ear.

“ _Well_ , when you’re right, you really are right, my dear Dorothea. I’ll be there soon, I promise,” he chuckles lightly, “alright, goodbye.”

When he turns, putting his phone back in his pocket and then glancing over at Alec, Alec instantly looks away and pretends like he wasn’t just listening in. Magnus smirks slightly, _knowing_ , and casually tilts his head towards the lounge.

“As much as I _love_ talking redecorating, Alexander,” he starts to head inside and Alec follows behind, “it seems I really must get back to work. They’ll probably burn the store down without me.”

“Accidentally?” Alec asks.

Magnus is silent as he closes the balcony doors, locking them and hanging the key up on the wall nearby. He grins as he spins around.

“On purpose.”

He strolls over towards the lounge, either ignoring Alec’s puzzled expression or simply choosing not to grace it with a reply, and instead leans over the back of the sofa until his face is level with Madzie’s.

“Papa has to go to work now, Sweet Pea,” he says, giving her a small kiss on the cheek and then standing back up. She nods, her thick hair bouncing with the motion, and then giggles as Magnus ruffles her hair before walking away.

She turns in her seat to watch him, and Magnus gently puts a hand on Alec’s arm. He suddenly feels like he’s _burning_.

“Be good for Alec, alright?” He waits a second for Madzie to respond, apparently deeming her wide grin and shout of _“okay!”_ to be good enough, and then with a quick pat to Alec’s arm, Magnus lets go, moving away and heading towards the front door.

Alec follows after him, arms folded neatly behind his back as he walks, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of Magnus’ touch on his skin, the fleeting warmth; he comes to a stop when Magnus is out in the hall, on the other side of the doorway, and it feels _weird_. It’s a strange occurrence that he supposes he’ll have to get used to, Alec being the one standing _inside_ the loft, fingers nervously twitching as he fidgets and stares blankly at the owner of said loft; Magnus only smiling back at him with the usual tilt of his head and teasing glint in his eyes.

He pats his pockets down and then nods to himself, satisfied. He looks up at Alec and nods again.

“There’s a list of emergency contacts pinned to the refrigerator, but I doubt you’ll need them,” he shrugs, “Madzie’s only ever caused a fire once, so you _should_ be fine.”

And with that, he leaves, promptly turning on his heel and heading down to the elevator at the end of the hall. Alec quickly leans out past the doorframe.

“Are you kidding?”

Magnus spins around as he presses the elevator button, and Alec can _just_ make out the wide smirk, the glittery wink sent his way.

“Maybe!” He calls back, before stepping backwards into the now-open elevator and giving a quick wave as the doors close.

Alec blinks dumbly and then huffs out a laugh, a small noise of disbelief mixed with amused amazement, and shuts the front door as he turns back to the inside of the loft. The inside of _someone else’s_ loft. It still feels weird, but he pushes it aside and makes his way to the lounge.

Madzie smiles when he sits down next to her, leaning forward and almost falling off the couch when she reaches to put her juice box on the table, and then comfortable shuffling back into the sofa. She looks _tiny_ sitting here, even tinier than she usually looks when she’s stood next to Alec, but her small feet are nowhere near the ground as she sinks into the plushness of the overly-large couch.

She’s quiet, as she usually is, and Alec is glad for that— not that he can’t deal with loud children, because he _can_ , Max was a handful when he was younger and Alec thinks he’s pretty well-adjusted to dealing with chatty and energetic kids; he’s just glad Madzie _isn’t_ , because it’s not exactly like she’s family. Alec struggles to form cohesive sentences and build friendships with _adults_ , how could he possibly be expected to bond with an extensively talkative _child_?

So he’s glad that she’s quiet, considering that he himself is fairly quiet, and he thinks that she already likes him enough already, which is great. He’s making progress despite the few words they’ve said to each other, and he also remembers that Magnus seems to think that Madzie _trusts_ him, and Alec finds a little bit of much-needed confidence in that thought.

They both watch the TV for a little while in almost-silence, Madzie humming and singing to herself occasionally—usually during the commercials, when her attention clearly wavers—and Alec lets himself relax. He’ll admit that he’s actually _fairly_ content watching the kids cartoons, but if anyone ever asked, he’d say he wasn’t paying attention.

(He _was_ , and whenever Madzie turns to talk to him about the show, her eyes wide and tone excited as she asks a genuine _“who’s your favourite?”_ or _“do you think the good guys are gonna win?!”_ , Alec will smile back at her and respond with matched enthusiasm; leaning forward slightly as if it’s an important secret shared between just the two of them.)

Eventually she sits forward, apparently _bored_ of the television as she stares up at Alec with a look of intrigue. It’s a look he’s seen before on kid’s faces, as if they’re about to ask a life-changing question or demand an answer to something completely ridiculous, and he braces himself for the worst thing it could possibly be.

“Alec?” She asks, like she’s _testing_ the word, and he frowns. He nods for her to go on, a small hum of _“yeah?”,_ and she pauses for a second before continuing.

“Why does Papa call you Alexander?”

Oh. _Alright._ Maybe that’s not the worst question in the world. He isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, really. He shrugs and idly twists his earring around.

“Because Alexander is my full name, Alec is just the short version.”

Madzie scrunches her cute little nose up like she’s confused, and Alec does his best not to laugh at her. She shakes her head, curls bouncing as if they had a mind of their own, and dramatically slaps her hands down against her knees.

“But _why?_ ” She’s whining almost, clearly exasperated and in _dire_ _need_ of an answer to this burning question— a question which Alec is suddenly lost on; he’s been caught before in endless loops of Max just asking him _“why?”_ in response to every single thing he says, and Alec is quickly reminded that children can be difficult.

 _People_ , in general, can be difficult.

He blinks dumbly as he shuffles back through the conversation, all the way to the initial question, and finally gets it. He stalls for an answer, settling into the couch further and watching Madzie mimic his movement.

“I don’t know,” he eventually says, aimlessly throwing his hands up, “maybe he just likes Alexander more than Alec.”

And _that_ is a thought that Alec could do without, something that he should never have considered in the first place, because it really does seem like the correct answer; the way Magnus had so quickly brushed aside his introduction of _“Alec Lightwood”_ as if it had never happened, opting instead for a soft and teasing _“Alexander”,_ and Magnus’ tone has only ever been purely genuine when he says his full name. It’s oddly personal, and the thought that Magnus might _like_ calling him Alexander— it’s _dangerous_.

Madzie seems to consider that answer, a tight expression on her face as she hums to herself, and then she nods, satisfied.

“Okay!” She turns back to the TV, “I like Alec more.”

He laughs lightly as he bumps her shoulder.

“Okay.”

When Magnus eventually returns, exactly like he’d predicted, only two hours after he’d initially left; Alec isn’t sure on the etiquette of what to do in someone else’s home when that person comes back. He stays sitting on the couch when he hears the front door open and close, the unmistakeable noise of Magnus’ heeled boots clicking along the floor as he walks into the lounge, but Alec stays put _mostly_ because of Madzie’s legs resting across his lap.

Madzie, surprisingly, also doesn’t move or make to get up despite hearing Magnus singing to himself as he wanders the loft—a trait which Alec has picked up in both of them, that they often seem to hum or sing to themselves, almost subconsciously—and she remains staring at the TV, attention focused solely on the brightly-coloured cartoons and not much else.

It takes a few minutes for Magnus to finally step into the lounge, throwing his suit jacket over the back of the sofa and dropping himself down into a nearby armchair with a small sigh, and Alec only _just_ notices the cat bundled up in his arms. He’d forgot about Chairman Meow. Or not really _forgot_ , because he knows the cat exists, he just hadn’t seen him around, and Alec quickly panics as he wonders if he was _supposed_ to cat sit, if Magnus had automatically expected that of him—

Magnus grins, like he can understand exactly what Alec’s thinking.

“As much as I prefer him to stay indoors, he tends to wander sometimes,” he says, glancing down at The Chairman and then back up at Alec, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t see him around very often.”

Alec only manages to nod back.

“How was work?” He asks, casual, and inwardly cringes at the blatant awkwardness of the question.

Magnus either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, closing his eyes and dramatically groaning.

“Things are busy lately, unfortunately,” he shrugs and then pouts as Chairman Meow jumps down from his lap, quickly running out of the lounge. Magnus returns his gaze to Alec after a few seconds. “Which, speaking of, can I request your services tomorrow? And maybe Wednesday too— if you’re available, of course.”

“Sure,” Alec says, “I’m always available.”

He _immediately_ regrets how eager he sounded.

This time, Magnus _does_ notice, a little laugh escaping from his mouth as he shakes his head, and Alec, to put it lightly, wants to die. He _is_ always available, considering he doesn’t exactly do much— which is a little pathetic of a grown man, really. He knows that already.

Magnus is talking about something—Alec mentally smacks himself for not listening—but he suddenly cuts himself off, eyes going wide as he gasps to himself, and then he’s standing up, patting at his pockets.

“ _Shit_ ,” he mumbles, under his breath, talking to himself more than anything, “where are my manners?”

His quest for finding whatever it is he’s looking for is unsuccessful, Alec assumes, because he looks around for a second before letting his gaze fall on the jacket he’d previously flung over the sofa.

He passes by the two of them on his way over, leaning down to nudge Madzie’s feet out of Alec’s lap and mumbling a small _“let Alexander move, Sweet Pea”,_ and then picking his jacket up and pulling his wallet out of the pocket.

“I completely forgot to pay you,” he starts to flick through some notes, and Alec stands up, smiling apologetically in response to the pout Madzie sends him, “and then my _terrible_ little angel has you trapped here, I’m so sorry.”

Alec shakes his head quickly, waving his hands and trying his best to establish that it’s fine.

“No, no, it’s alright, really,” he scratches at the back of his neck, pointedly avoiding looking at the money Magnus is holding out for him, “I don’t—”

“Alexander,” Magnus’ voice is slightly stern, “don’t make me give this money to Biscuit, who in return will _certainly_ lecture you about refusing it.”

It’s incredible just how true that is, and Alec rolls his eyes, cracking a small smile as Magnus grins knowingly at him. He tries not to linger when he takes it, suppressing a small shiver when his fingers brush over Magnus’ warm skin, and he definitely doesn’t bother to count it or even look at it while standing here; just folds it neatly and slips it into his pocket, forgoing his wallet because he left it at home, like an _idiot_.

And now he’s not sure what to do, or where to go from here, and he hopes that his awkwardness and inexperience with something as simple as _socialising_ isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is.

“Thanks, Magnus,” Alec nods, slowly, “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

Magnus bites his lip as the corners of his mouth twitch, evidently holding back a grin.

“Yeah,” he says, casually adjusting one of the rings he’s wearing, “if you could get here at the same time as you did today, that’d be great.”

Alec quickly nods again, a small mumble of _“of course”,_ and then he blinks, _dumbly_ , turning back to the sofa to find Madzie gazing up at him expectantly. She scrunches her nose up at him and Alec, instinctually, returns the same expression, breaking into a smile when she starts to giggle at him.

Once she stops laughing she wastes no time in putting her hand up, palm facing Alec, and he’s ashamed to admit that it took him an _embarrassingly_ long amount of time before he realised she wanted to high-five him; he quickly does it, ignoring the muffled snicker coming from Magnus’ direction, and then offering a soft _“bye”_ when Madzie happily waves, a simple _“bye-bye, Alec!”_ before she focuses back on the television. _Kids and their short attention spans._

He heads out, Magnus walking him to the door—gentlemanly as always—and his lingering natural awkwardness gets the best of him, pulling him away from the doorway and leaving with nothing more than a small wave and a _“see ya”;_ Magnus doesn’t react any differently than he usually does when interacting with Alec, just a barely-there grin and a subtle tilt of his head, the blue strands of his hair falling delicately across his forehead and almost blocking his eyes— Magnus waves, and then gracefully pushes the loose hair back into its previous styling.

When he eventually gets the chance to check over the money he was given, pulling the few notes out of his pocket and thumbing through them, Alec quickly realising that he’s holding fifty dollars in his hand. Fifty _whole_ dollars, for two very simple hours of what might not even be classified as _“babysitting”,_ it was _that_ simple, and he has _fifty dollars_ after it— Alec almost walks right back inside to return it, to give at least half of it back, to do _something_ ; instead, fighting the urge as best as he can, he sighs, sliding the notes back into his jeans, and starting up his car to set off home.

His apartment is quiet, as it should be, given that Jace is usually pretty quiet when he’s home alone. The problems, the _noise_ , only start up when a visitor is over, and that’s only ever because they seem to have the loudest friends in the world. Izzy is a given—but Alec supposes that the blame of the subsequent ruckus could be equally split between the three of them, they happen to bring out the worst in each other—and Simon is obviously and _unapologetically_ obnoxious. Clary, thankfully, is quiet enough on her own, though being with Simon—or arguing with Jace—is a different story entirely, and it sucks that they mostly seem to be a package duo.

It’s only when Alec is sitting comfortably in the lounge, feet kicked up onto the coffee table and his head lazily lolled back against the sofa, that Jace finally decides to let his presence be known.

He wanders into the lounge, fully dressed, and Alec closes his eyes in silent protest to the inevitable disturbance that’s about to happen.

“Alec, I know you’re awake,” Alec keeps his eyes shut, “you snore when you’re _actually_ asleep.”

“I _don’t_ snore,” he says, cracking his eyes open only to glare, and then sighs as Jace folds his arms across his chest, “so, _what?_ What do you want?”

Jace throws a jacket at Alec, grinning when it falls over his head, and shrugs like he’s not being the world’s biggest asshole.

“We need to go to the grocery store. There’s nothing good to eat.”

Alec pauses, halfway through pulling his jacket on, and stares at his brother, absolutely _dumbfounded_.

“ _Wh_ —” He stops, collecting himself before trying again, “and you couldn’t go by _yourself_?”

Jace looks at him like he’s suddenly grown another head— which is actually a common way he tends to look at Alec. It doesn’t help the situation. Alec resumes getting ready and walks out to the hallway, waiting for the sounds of Jace’s footsteps following him before he starts putting his boots back on.

“Well, _yeah_ , but you remember what happened last time.”

Alec does, in fact, remember. He’s not sure he could ever forget the first—and _only_ —time that Jace has done the grocery shopping by himself. Even armed with a list full of very specific things to buy, enough staples that they can cook at home without needing to order takeout every day, Jace had still somehow managed to come back with only a couple of items; including two tubs of ice-cream, a six-pack of beer, and a new pair of headphones for himself— none of which were even on the list to begin with. He had, _apparently_ , been kicked out of the store only minutes into his adventure. Alec has never found out _exactly_ why.

So now Jace is only allowed to go grocery shopping—or any form of shopping—with someone else at his side, and that someone is usually Alec. Izzy can’t be trusted not to also buy useless items on top of the list, which amounts in an _incredible_ fee that none of them want to cover, and Simon somehow is just as bad as Jace; Alec has vivid memories of standing at one end of the aisle, unable to move as he watches Simon run with the shopping cart containing Jace sitting inside it, his legs hanging over the edge and his entire body obviously squashed. It might as well have been in slow motion, like a tragic moment from a movie, because that’s how Alec _thought_ he had witnessed the crashing of the cart into a huge display of meticulously stacked cereal boxes.

Needless to say, no one is ever to be tasked with something even _vaguely_ adult unless Alec is there to supervise. It’s a miracle that Jace actually waited for him to get home and didn’t just go without him. It’s not often that anyone actually _listens_ to Alec’s ideas.

The two of them drive to the nearest grocery store, without a list for once, and amidst the moments when Jace is enthusiastically singing along to whatever CD he happened to have shoved into the disc slot—usually an album by Simon and his band, which Alec is often _forced_ into purchasing by Clary—they strike up casual conversation about anything and everything like they always do when they find themselves with free time to just talk. Alec doesn’t enjoy talking to many people, but he _loves_ talking to Jace.

(And Iz, and Clary, and subsequently he’ll admit he finds talking to Simon to be _entertaining_ at least. He likes talking to Magnus, too.)

Jace runs a hand through his hair, tousled and messy, the gesture completely pointless as the wind continues to blow in through the rolled-down window.

“You need to fix your roots,” Alec says, nonchalant, and fixes his eyes back on the road ahead of him as he hears Jace scoff.

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” his tone is slightly amused, the smile evident, and Alec bites back a laugh, “you know I’m naturally blonde, bro.”

“Sure. I’ll remember that the next time I’m throwing away the empty boxes of bleach in our bathroom, _bro_.”

There’s a short laugh from his right, a quiet whisper of _“bastard”_ below the upbeat music and the gentle roar of the wind, and Alec rolls his eyes as his mouth twitches into a small grin.

Their ideas of _“grocery shopping”_ have always been noticeably different, no matter who Alec drags along with him to do the shopping for the week, they all have _vastly_ different notions of what _“groceries”_ happens to mean. Iz likes to spend far too long picking up new make-up that she certainly doesn’t need, already having an abundance of it at home—some stored away at Alec’s place too—and mostly taking her time trying to convince Alec to wear eyeliner, _“just once, come on!”_. Jace tends to flock straight to the freezers, seeking out the ice-cream, and also, _for a personal trainer_ , spends a disproportionate amount of time mulling over which snacks and various other unhealthy goods to buy.

He claims he does it for Alec, specifically picking out the things that he likes, which is _maybe_ true, but it also doesn’t count when they like the same snacks and Jace often demolishes them before anyone else can have any. It’s a nice gesture, at least.

Jace happily pushes the cart down the aisle, occasionally jumping onto the bar underneath and letting himself glide along for a few feet, like an oversized and extremely ridiculous skateboard, and Alec contently chats about whatever it is they’re discussing as he throws the necessary items into the cart and successfully makes every single shot.

When they pass by the baking stuff, Alec instinctively stops, leaving Jace to wander on for a few more minutes until he suddenly pauses and spins the cart around, heading back down the aisle and _“accidentally”_ crashing into Alec’s side.

“Asshole _._ ”

Jace ignores that.

“What’re you looking at?” He asks, flippant.

“I was just…” Alec stops rubbing at his aching hand and gestures vaguely to the rows and rows of various cake mixtures and brightly coloured tubes of icing. “Thinking about maybe making some cakes or something, for Magnus. And Madzie.”

Jace abandons the shopping cart and wanders towards the shelves, moving a few of the boxes out of the way and flicking through the different flavours and options before eventually settling on a bag of flour. He holds it up.

“You suck at baking,” he starts, and Alec immediately glares, opening his mouth before Jace quickly cuts him off, “not to say I _don’t_ , but, if we call Clary to come over on the weekend, she’d do a better job than we possibly could.”

Alec hates how right he is. It’s unfortunate just how much they both suck at cooking and baking— obviously they’re not as bad as Izzy, Alec doesn’t think anyone in the _world_ is worse than her, but they’re still pretty bad. Not like Alec doesn’t _try_ to cook, and he _can_ make a few basic dishes, it’s just that his attempts at trying new things tend to involuntarily go wrong. It’s not his fault.

“Alright,” he says, taking the bag of flour from Jace and tossing it over into the cart.

He pauses for a second, narrowing his eyes at the shelf, and then looks over at Jace.

“What ingredients go into cakes?”

Jace snorts without answering. He wordlessly stretches a hand across the shelf and tips one of pretty much everything into the cart, a silent confession that he too has no idea.

They manage to continue the rest of the trip without making any further unnecessary stops, filling their cart with enough food to last them until the next trip and preventing any mid-week purchases that they don’t need; the occasional order of take-out is obviously exempt and considered a very _necessary_ purchase.

As always, their regular argument over which flavour of ice-cream to buy happens as it usually does, with Jace deciding that they might as well get two tubs; Alec opting for the fancy vanilla-bean because _sure_ , he’s _“boring”_ , and Jace eventually settling on the cookie-dough and brownie mix, the most unhealthy choice possible.

Before checking out and finally leaving, Jace forces them to take a quick detour to the beauty section, and Alec stifles a laugh and looks the other way as he pretends not to acknowledge the boxes of bleach being thrown into the cart.

The car ride home is just as eventful as the trip there, with the occasional added _thunk_ of the groceries falling over in the trunk. They also make a stop at McDonald’s, which Alec is thankful for, because it’s actually getting fairly late and he’s willing to admit that he’s hungry— not that it seems to matter anyways, given that he’s the one driving and his hands are occupied on the steering wheel, meaning that all Alec can do is yell and send precursory warning glares in Jace’s direction every time he so much as _dares_ to make a comment about eating Alec’s fries.

Anyone else would take the hint, or not even attempt it in the first place, but Jace is Jace and has always been lacking in braincells, which explains a _lot_ of his actions in life. He picks up a handful of fries, and the bewildered expression on his face and noise of pure shock when Alec quickly smacks him over the head is _completely_ worth the fries falling onto the floor.

Making it back to their apartment without any further casualties is a miracle, a rare occurrence of Jace actually keeping to himself for once instead of pushing it, and Alec happily kicks his feet up onto the coffee table as he sips at his milkshake and watches whatever nonsense Jace has put on the TV; the fifty dollars from earlier still sits in his pocket, neatly folded and untouched—after Jace demanded to pay for everything—and Alec lets himself have a relaxing night.

And maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s a _little_ bit excited for tomorrow.


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec, being Alec, opens his mouth.
> 
> “How was work?”
> 
> And amazingly, he decides that small talk is just what this conversation needs right now. Because Alec is just _fantastic_ at small talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy yall! hope ur all having a nice morning/day/night!! i feel like i'm running out of things to say in these notes because i'm so boring and uninteresting as a person hahaha so.. thank u all for reading yet again! much love <3

Magnus is wearing another suit today, and as much as Alec tries to act normal, he still isn’t completely used to the barely-buttoned shirts and the tight-fitting blazers; _especially_ not with the way Magnus slides deft fingers underneath the cuffs and then easily rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, toned forearms now on display, decorated with a plethora of bracelets and his usual rings snagging briefly against the fabric when he moves his hands away. His nails are stark black, matching the shirt underneath his burgundy suit, and it all actually goes pretty nicely with the blue in his hair.

Though, he could be wrong, because Alec doesn’t know anything at all about colours or fashion— something which is _blatantly_ obvious to anyone with eyes. It’s not his fault, exactly, like with his hair, it just doesn’t look neat no matter how much he combs or styles it. It’s permanently tousled and he’s learned to live with that. He also just likes wearing black, it’s a simple colour and he doesn’t have to deal with the struggle of trying to match things or follow a cohesive theme; Izzy is constantly chastising Simon for wearing _“clashing colours”_ and Alec is glad that he has no idea what that means, and _also_ , if he doesn’t wear any colours, he can never fall victim to it or get yelled at by his sister.

Magnus looks good— _as_ _always_ —is the point.

He’s adjusting one of his earrings, connecting a little chain from the cuff to the stud, and casually talking about the tasks he has to finish once he gets back to work.

“Oh! Right,” he suddenly pauses, dropping his hand from his ear and quickly moving to his pocket, “I completely forgot to give you my work number. I’ll text it to you.”

Alec nods, pulling his phone out and waiting for the text as Magnus continues on.

“If you ever call, don’t be afraid if someone _incredibly_ rude picks up,” he laughs lightly, “as much as Dorothea and I try to keep him away from the phone, Raphael tends to answer sometimes and he’s very…”

He pauses, furrowing his eyebrows as he seems to ponder over an ending to where he trailed off, and then waves his phone dismissively before sliding it back into his jacket pocket.

“… _interesting_ , to say the least.”

The text comes through, just a simple number and nothing else, and Alec saves it to his contacts in case of a dire emergency. He can’t see himself ever using the number, or any number that Magnus has given him actually, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Kids can get into all kinds of situations that you’d never expect them to get into, even with a very-watchful eye scrutinizing their every move— Alec is proof of that, considering he once accidentally shot Jace with an arrow when they were only teens.

 _Again_ , he stresses, it was an _accident_.

(Jace still brings it up sometimes, and _still_ thinks it was on purpose.)

Luckily, there’s no bow lying around Magnus’ apartment— at least, Alec hasn’t seen one. With all the strange and mysterious artefacts lying around, it wouldn’t exactly be out of the ordinary to find a bow carefully mounted on the wall, Magnus offering an explanation that it’s _“a unique piece of history”_ and _“needs to get back to the store because it’s taking up valuable space in my loft”._

Madzie doesn’t seem like the type to cause much trouble anyway, despite Magnus’ jokes, and Alec is certain the most he’ll ever have to deal with might just be the typical ups-and-downs of a child and their tendency to have tantrums when they’re tired; he also considers that Chairman Meow might cause more problems than a shy kid would.

After kissing Madzie goodbye and giving her what seems to now be the typical _“be nice to Alec”_ talk, and after briefly lingering in the doorway to say bye to Alec, Magnus casually gives a dainty wave and takes off to get back to work. Leaving Alec alone, once again, in someone else’s home, looking after their child and also their cat.

He’s still not used to this, either.

He hesitates for a little while, standing near the lounge and awkwardly twiddling his thumbs as he glances around. It’s all the same, it’s obviously the same apartment as he was in yesterday, as he’s been in before. Nothing has changed, the pillars remain in the same position as they always have, the lights are adjusted to their brightest setting, pieces of art hang neatly on the blank sections of wall; nothing has changed, and Alec takes in a deep breath as he wills himself to calm down. He doesn’t even know what he’s nervous about.

Scratching at his nails, he steps forward into the lounge.

“ _Sooooo_ ,” he says, drawing it out as he wanders over towards the couch, “what are we planning today, Madzie?”

She glances up at him as he sits down next to her, smile quickly settling onto her face, and she wastes no time in climbing up onto her feet and standing on the cushion. The couch dips with the weight and Alec has to actually steady himself so he doesn’t nudge her over.

“I wanna draw!” She practically yells, clearly excited, and Alec simply nods back at her.

“Alright,” he shrugs, “do you know where your stuff is, or—”

He’s immediately silenced when she jumps down off the couch and grabs at his hand, tugging him up to his feet and starting to pull him along with her as she wanders and babbles, an impatient chant of _“come on, let’s go!”,_ as if Alec possibly had _any_ choice in the matter. She’s unbelievably strong for a child— or, really, Alec is just completely willing to be dragged around, resigned to his fate of exploring Magnus’ house by the hand of an over-excited kid.

At least she knows where she’s going, pulling Alec down the hallway and then swinging a random door open. Alec quickly recognises it as Madzie’s bedroom, thankfully, and he flicks the light on for her as she drops his hand and runs into the room.

Chairman Meow lies in the middle of her bed, curled up and clearly fast asleep, almost mistakeable for one of the 500 plushies surrounding him. Alec lets his eyes wander the vast expanse of the room, mildly jealous that a six-year-old’s bedroom is probably the same size as his _lounge_ back home, but ignores that in favour of taking in the cute décor; the walls are glittery pink with white clouds, the pattern is evidently hand-painted, the paint patchy in a few areas, which makes Alec’s heart swell with some kind of adoration at the idea of Magnus doing this interior decorating by himself.

(Maybe not by himself, maybe with friends, maybe with a partner— Alec doesn’t know.)

Her bed is also probably bigger than Alec’s, or it might just be the fact it’s a four-poster and has fancy curtains hanging around it, he can’t quite tell. All he knows is that it’s _exquisite_ —the princess aesthetic must be a deal-breaker for her—and also that it’s incredibly dramatic for a child, something he supposes is to be expected, given that she’s being raised by Magnus; Alec wonders if his bedroom would be just as dramatic as his personality, as the rest of the apartment, or if it would be toned down and basic.

Madzie rummages through a small storage unit, transparent plastic boxes stacked up to an easily accessible height for her, and she pulls out a new object every few seconds and drops it onto the floor next to her in a small pile of paper and art supplies. Eventually she pushes the storage box back into the unit and then scoops up the mess she made, clumsily gripping the paper and pens tight in her little arms, beaming up at Alec with a self-satisfied grin.

She runs past him, straight back out the door, and he stifles a laugh at the sound of her tiny footsteps pounding against the hallway floor. Before following after her, he gives the room a quick once-over, nodding when he finds everything just how it was when they had entered, and smiling softly at the drawings and various personal things taped up on the wall near the door.

He finds Madzie sitting on the floor in the lounge. The TV is playing the news, or something else of similar importance, so Alec finds the remote amongst the couch cushions and flicks the channel over to a cartoon that he’s never heard of or ever even seen before. She doesn’t look up or seem to care at all for the change in show, scribbling away at a piece of paper with a bright red marker, until after a few minutes when she suddenly stops and turns towards Alec.

“D’you wanna draw?” She asks, waving a blank sheet of paper in his direction.

Alec pauses, thinking it over, and then mentally smacks himself because it’s not like it’s a lifechanging question.

“Sure,” he replies, sliding off the couch and then shuffling across the floor to sit next to her, “I’m not very good though, so you can’t laugh at me.”

She instantly giggles. Alec grins, happily accepting the paper she slides his way and then reaches for the nearest marker. He watches her for a few minutes, how she quickly goes back to drawing and a small smile stays on her face the entire time she colours and doodles, and it’s only when she peers up at him does he finally uncap his marker.

He hesitates again.

Madzie frowns, and Alec rhythmically taps the end of the pen against his cheek.

“I don’t know what to draw,” he offers, “you should give me some ideas. What are _you_ drawing?”

He leans forward, hoping to get a peek at her paper, and she pulls it away and shields it with her arms, almost lying over the top of the table to cover as much of it as possible. Alec gasps, mock-offended, and she sticks her tongue out at him. Through the gaps in between her splayed fingers, he can just make out a blur of colour, like she’s used every single marker she has.

“You can draw…” she hums, thinking, scrunching her eyes closed for dramatic effect and then opening them again as if she’d had a sudden epiphany, “a dragon! Yeah!”

Alec pales.

“A _dragon_?”

“Yep.” Madzie pops the p, a confident and definitive answer, and goes back to her own piece of paper, this conversation clearly over.

Alec has to draw a dragon, it’s settled.

He’s never drawn more than a stickman, how is he supposed to draw a _dragon_? What does a dragon even look like? Could he call Clary right now and ask her to skip class and come over to Magnus’ place and draw a dragon for him so he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of a _child_? That would be an embarrassing enough call on its own though, actually. Clary would never let him live it down, let alone share it with everyone she knows, so alright, he has to draw a dragon, by himself.

He can do this.

As it turns out, only mere minutes into his masterpiece, he apparently can _not_ do this. He already knows it’s bad, irredeemably bad, and his suspicions are only confirmed when Madzie leans over, staring down at the paper in front of Alec and then looking up at him with a comically confused expression.

She opens her mouth, the inevitable question of _“what’s that?”_ ready to hit Alec at any second, so he saves himself from the embarrassment and instead covers up his drawing with his hands.

“Stop peeking,” he says, scowling, “it’s not finished yet. Let me finish it, and _then_ you can laugh at me.”

Madzie pouts for a few more seconds before shrugging, shaking her head slightly and resuming work on her own masterpiece— not a term used lightly, this time, because Alec is sure that she certainly _is_ creating a masterpiece with the pure dedication she’s putting into this one drawing; plus, anything will be a masterpiece when compared to Alec’s… _whatever_ it is, that Alec is doing.

What does a dragon even look like?

He’s ashamed to admit that for a brief second, he _seriously_ considers getting his phone out and searching _“dragon drawing”_ on the internet. He can’t believe his life has come to this, Clary and Simon would be so ashamed of him.

Soon enough, he gives up on any final attempts at salvaging the mess he’s made, and instead just decides to sit back and accept the mockery that’ll no doubt be coming his way.

Madzie, already on a different drawing—the third one, actually—quickly shuffles over to him, almost crawling into his lap as she excitedly pulls at the paper on the table. Alec patiently awaits a reaction.

“It’s good!” Madzie says, flicking her hair over her shoulder and then pointing at the drawing, “more like a dinosaur, but that’s okay.”

She turns around, leaning to the side and picking up her own pieces of paper, and then fully climbs into Alec’s lap now as she holds up her art in front of his face. She adjusts her hair again and Alec ignores her drawings for a second, opting to grab a spare hair tie off the table and then gesturing for her to sit back so he can keep her hair out of her face; he’s probably surprisingly good at styling hair, thanks to years of helping Izzy with hers, it’s just a shame that he can’t figure out how to tame his own.

When her hair sits in a loose ponytail and Madzie happily smiles up at him, Alec finally wraps his arms around her so he can pick up and inspect the pictures she’s trying to show him.

They’re _wonderful_ —better than anything Alec can do now at 24 years old—and Alec thinks back to the first time he met Madzie, the cute origami flower she had made him out of something as simple as a cupcake wrapper; she seems to have a penchant for creativity, and she’s _talented_ , an adorable little artist.

He looks over the drawings properly, two of them just various doodles and scribbles, flowers and hearts and a few different animals, still incredible and still better than the things that Alec would end up drawing when he would get distracted or bored in his college lectures. Lydia would smack his arm or kick his ankle under the desk to get his attention, ignoring the glare he’d give her and forcing him to focus on the class— which he _would_ , for maybe another five minutes, before he was back to aimlessly scrawling in the margin of his notebook, circles and spirals and patterns of repeating shapes, like his own Tetris game. He’s never particularly been the great artist of the family, what can he say?

(Clary is obviously the artist of the family—and the sudden thought of Clary being a part of the family makes Alec bristle slightly, only just now realising that she _is_ essentially family, and it doesn’t shock him that much to think about how little he minds that—but also, if anyone ever dug deep enough, they’d discover that Izzy isn’t that bad at art either.)

The third drawing is different, more detailed and of an actual subject matter instead of small doodles, and Alec finds himself smiling softly at the three figures on the page.

“Is this you?” He asks, gently pointing to the figure in the middle, a small black girl in a rainbow-coloured dress, her curly hair an obvious sign of the sweet child that Alec has come to grow a soft spot for.

“Duh!” Madzie says, excitedly waving her hands as she talks and points out various things in the drawing, “I’m a princess, but I have magical powers! Like a…”

She trails off, clearly trying to find the right word, and then her eyes widen with a bright sparkle.

“Like a saucer!”

Alec blinks.

“A saucer?”

Madzie only nods confidently, and Alec continues to stare at her until it finally, _finally_ clicks.

“Oh!” He exclaims, quickly nodding back, “a sorcerer! _Right_. Got it.”

She grins, obviously pleased that he understands, and then points at one of the other two figures in the drawing. Alec doesn’t need to be a genius to recognise the blue hair and the colourful clothes.

“This is Papa, he’s the king, but he’s also a s—” She stumbles for a second before trying again, “sorcerer!”

Alec positively _beams_.

He points at the third figure, expectant and already fully aware of who it is. Somehow a six-year-old has managed to perfectly document the tiniest of Alec-specific details, like the small scar cutting across his left eyebrow; _obviously_ drawn simplistically and established as nothing more than a gap in the line, but he thinks it’s adorable anyways.

“What about me?” He taps at the paper. “Am I a sorcerer too?”

Madzie seems to consider that, bringing a finger to her lip as she hums, and then she shakes her head. A few curls come loose from her ponytail and fall back in front of her face.

“No,” she says, “but you’re another king! You and Papa are both the kings.”

Alec finds himself with no reaction to that comment. _Nothing_. He stares aimlessly past Madzie’s shoulder, blinking down at the paper in her hands and skimming his eyes over the bright-yellow crowns that sit on both his and Magnus’ heads, the matching tiara sitting atop Madzie’s curls, and it’s… indescribable. He really doesn’t know what to do, or say, or even think. He knows he has to do _something_ though, especially with how Madzie has turned her head to peer up at him, clearly impatient and excited.

“I love it,” he says, and he’s not really surprised at how genuine it comes out.

It must be the right answer, or at least a satisfactory one, because Madzie grins widely and frantically nods to herself before crawling out of Alec’s lap and returning to her previous position, legs crossed as she sits on the floor and immediately starts reaching for a new piece of paper.

This could apparently occupy her for a _while_ , which Alec is obviously fine with. He’s very appreciative of how low maintenance she seems to be, quiet and calm and willing to just sit and draw for hours; something that Alec himself would be pretty content with as a child, except instead of drawing he would prefer to just spend time alone, reading or maybe practicing archery when he got a little older; not at all comparable to Jace, who was loud and energetic and loved company, and Izzy was always content to sit and babble with him for forever.

(Alec sort of understands it now. He’s still introverted as all hell, and he still loves spending time alone, but he also loves spending time with his still-loud and still-energetic brother and their equally extroverted sister; they also like spending time with Alec, in his own way, content to sit with him in peaceful silence and just offer their company while he relaxes. It’s nice.)

With nothing else to do, being in someone else’s house and not wanting to rummage through their belongings—and really, the situation isn’t that dire—Alec decides to kill time with television and more drawing, which is probably a mistake on his part considering how bad he is at it. Though, as long as he’s not requested to draw another dragon or something equally ridiculous, he can definitely bust out a pretty mean stickman or a nice-looking rose— a rose might be an exaggeration. He could pull off a _daisy_ , at best.

He grabs the TV remote off the table while Madzie is distracted and flicks the channel over to something that’s entertaining enough, but mostly comfortable background noise; he’s hesitant in admitting that he settled on Food Network. The shows are fun to critique, _okay?_ Alec might have hardly any experience with cooking or baking but he still finds enjoyment in mumbling to himself about how wrong the chef’s on TV are and how their recipes _suck_.

He’s 24, this is just his life now. He’s adjusted to it.

So that’s what he does, for an indefinite and unknown amount of time; he sits on the floor, legs cramping up and needing to be stretched out every five or so minutes, his back aching from where he’s hunched over a low coffee table, and he happily scribbles away on a new piece of paper as he doodles anything and everything while the exuberant voice of Guy Fieri plays quietly in the background of the lounge.

Being found in this situation, in someone else’s home, by the owner of said home, would probably be one of the most embarrassing moments of Alec’s life. That’s an incredible feat, considering the varying other moments that could wind up on the list, if he were to ever sit down and make one. He _won’t_ , for the sake of his own sanity, but the concept is there.

And like clockwork, as if Alec just has a penchant for embarrassment and unlikely situations, Magnus had apparently come home at some point. Alec didn’t hear the door open, or subsequently close behind him, and he didn’t hear the typical click of Magnus’ heels along the wooden floor; instead he’s greeted with a short laugh coming from the entrance to the lounge, and it nearly makes Alec jump. _Nearly_.

“ _Please_ tell me you aren’t subjecting my daughter to the mess that is _Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives_ , Alexander.”

Alec sits up suddenly, ignoring the faint cracking of his back.

“She’s hardly watching it, if that helps.” He says, glancing over to where Madzie is still completely occupied with what must be her _fiftieth_ drawing.

It’s a true statement, the TV being mostly ignored and serving purely as a background noise in the otherwise-quiet room; the only other noises being the distant rush of traffic out on the streets below, travelling in from a single open window alongside the occasional gentle gust of wind, and the distracted humming of Madzie singing to herself as she contently drags her pink marker across the paper in front of her.

Arguably, it’s still an odd choice of background noise. Alec is aware of that.

Magnus only huffs out a small laugh, the hints of a sigh blending in with it, and his footsteps gradually become louder and closer as he walks further into the lounge; instead of heading straight for the couch or one of the armchairs, he makes his way around to the front of the coffee table, blocking the TV briefly, and Alec watches the fabric of his wine-coloured slacks stretch snug around his thighs as he crouches down.

It’s almost enough to distract him from the fact that Magnus is picking up a very specific piece of paper. One that Alec had planned on throwing in the trash as soon as he had the chance to. It takes everything in him not to dive forward across the table and pull it from Magnus’ grasp.

When Magnus bites his lower lip, the sides of his mouth subtly twitching as he tries to hold back a grin, Alec can do nothing but let out a self-pitying groan.

“ _Well_ ,” Magnus starts, “I think you’re certainly on track to becoming the next Michelangelo.”

He peers up at Alec without lifting his head, dark brown eyes barely visible through his thick eyelashes, and his tone is as teasing as always, that typical Magnus-brand flirtation; Alec bites back a grin at the way he had chosen to reference Michelangelo of all possible artists, not someone slightly more common to draw attention to, like Da Vinci, or Picasso, maybe.

“Shut up,” he responds, without even the slightest bite to it. “It’s a dragon.”

Why he’s even _bothering_ to explain himself, he has no idea.

Magnus hums.

“Of course it is.” He stands up slowly, paper still in hand, and then smirks. “I have the perfect place for this, actually. Don’t you think it’d look _wonderful_ on the refrigerator?”

Madzie seems to perk up at that, lifting her eyes from her drawing and instantly homing in on Magnus, an excited grin spreading across her face as she eyes the mess of a picture in his hands. Alec feels his posture involuntarily straighten, his eyes widening slightly in pure disbelief.

“ _No_ ,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows, “you wouldn’t.”

He knows, even as he says it, that Magnus _would_. The responding wink and small head-nod as Magnus heads out of the lounge is enough of a confirmation. Madzie frantically gets up off the floor, her little feet hitting the wooden floor as she runs after her dad, and Alec eventually pushes himself up and follows along with a resigned—and mildly amused—sigh.

Magnus is waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the side of the fridge with Alec’s disastrous drawing in one hand and a small yellow magnet in the other. Only when Alec finally appears does he decide to move, handing both items to Madzie and offering a casual wave towards the refrigerator.

She happily pins the drawing up on the door without even thinking about it, excited and giggly, and then takes a step back as if assessing her own handywork. Magnus joins her, standing at her side and folding his arms as he hums, his head tilted slightly like he’s a serious art critic and _not_ like he’s staring at the scribbles of a man who has never drawn anything even remotely good in his entire life.

“I’m _so_ overjoyed to be the first owner of an authentic Alexander Lightwood piece.” Magnus says, faking a vague pretentious tone. “This is going to be worth millions someday.”

Alec scoffs.

“Yeah, sure,” he steps to the side a little as Madzie runs past him, out of the kitchen and back into the lounge, “I’ll be sure to sign my next piece. Alec Gideon Lightwood, right in the corner.”

He notices the tiniest twitch of Magnus’ left eyebrow, just a slight pique of interest and no doubt at the newly revealed information of Alec’s middle name, but it’s over as quick as it started and Magnus settles on a small smirk instead. He turns on his heel, away from the fridge, and walks over to the fancy coffee machine on one of the kitchen countertops. Alec doesn’t miss the barely-there bump of shoulders when Magnus passes by him.

In a silent question, Magnus simply holds up a coffee mug as he flicks a switch on the machine, and Alec shakes his head. He doesn’t want to intrude.

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

He pauses. Magnus continues making his own drink, fidgeting with his mug and pressing at buttons on the machine, his black nail polish chipped slightly and not as pristine as it was a few hours ago. Alec feels mildly awkward, never sure what to do in silence and specifically not sure what to do in someone else’s home when you should probably just _leave_ , especially when you’re only reason for being in this someone’s home is to babysit their child and it’s not exactly necessary to loiter when they’re here with said child— Alec, being Alec, opens his mouth.

“How was work?”

And amazingly, he decides that small talk is just what this conversation needs right now. Because Alec is just _fantastic_ at small talk.

Magnus makes a small noise, almost inaudible above the sound of coffee pouring into his mug, but it’s a sweet mix of a laugh and a snort, one of those noises that sounds so uncharacteristically normal for someone so extravagant; it’s also a surprisingly _teasing_ noise, indicating that Magnus is fully aware of how awkward Alec is being. He’s not exactly hard to read, in all honesty. He’s pretty sure he fidgets every single second of the day, perpetual awkwardness is usually just his constant state of being.

“ _Ah_ , well, it seems to just get busier every day,” Magnus takes a sip of his drink, “maybe if my co-workers did some actual work for a change instead of _gossiping_ , we’d manage to get through the item backlog.”

Alec, unsurprisingly, is not a business-person, nor does he know even the slightest thing about antiques and how running that sort of business would work. He nods along anyways, feigning understanding, and takes a seat on a nearby bar stool when Magnus seems to make himself comfortable, leaning back against the counter and cradling his coffee mug in his palms.

“Right,” Alec offers, “don’t you own the store, though?”

“ _Mhm_ ,” Magnus hums, waving one hand in the air as he continues on, “it previously belonged to a dear friend of mine, Ragnor, with whom I was business partners with. He moved back to London, quite a long time ago now, and I’ve been running the place ever since.”

He chuckles to himself, as if remembering something or thinking about something that Alec isn’t privy to, and then gives a crooked grin.

“I’m yet to be struck by disaster, so I think I’m doing fairly well. Ragnor would fly over _instantly_ if he ever found out I’d sunk his business.”

Alec smiles at that. It’s nice, in a weird way, to hear Magnus be slightly unsure of himself, noticing the _“yet”_ and the _“think”_ and the _“fairly”;_ perhaps reassuring is a more fitting word than _nice_ , because Alec isn’t glad that Magnus is low in confidence about this, he’s just… _appreciative_ for this slight peek beneath what is so obviously a façade, the overtly-confident and always-perfectly-elegant Magnus finally letting slip that he, too, worries about things like normal people do.

(Not that Magnus isn’t _normal_ , just that he’s above-average, essentially. He’s better than Alec. He’s apparently rich, if his apartment is anything to go by, and successful, and he’s fashionable and intelligent and he’s beautiful; Alec is just regular average Alec. Maybe pushing below-average, actually.)

He drums his fingers along the countertop, three times in quick succession, and then glances around the spotlessly clean kitchen.

“Does it pay well? Being an… a curator?” He asks, hoping it doesn’t come out as rude or unwarranted. He’s just curious.

Magnus, thankfully, breaks into a short and sudden laugh around the rim of his mug. He lowers it without taking a drink, shaking his head and smiling.

“It can be pretty profitable, if you know what you’re doing.”

Alec once again lets his vision wander to the expensive-looking appliances in the kitchen. Even the lights hanging from the ceiling look like they could be worth more than Alec’s car— a lot of things could probably pass that test though.

“I take it you know what you’re doing?” Alec asks, obviously intrigued now.

He bristles when Magnus smirks.

“I _certainly_ do, Alexander.” He winks. His expression shifts to something less teasing and more humble in a mere millisecond, looking around at his own home and shrugging casually. “I must admit, the wealth that acquired me this lovely home and my possessions wasn’t entirely mine or from working. Inheritance from family, mostly.”

There’s a hint of melancholy in his tone. Alec feels a little bad for bringing it up.

“And _then_ through hard work, obviously. I have to continue to fuel my coffee addiction and love for overpriced beauty products _somehow_.”

Like that, he’s back to being upbeat and jokey, and Alec rolls his eyes when Magnus dramatically rests his hands under his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes and pointing at his eyeliner as if Alec wasn’t already aware of it. He is. _Painfully_ so.

Magnus' eyes seem to drift back to the picture now pinned to his refrigerator, stifling a laugh and then absently humming to himself as he kicks forward off the counter he's leaning against; reaching casually into the back pocket of his trousers and pulling out his wallet, a sight that still makes Alec feel _mildly_ uncomfortable even though he knows he has to be paid somehow.

(And even though he now _knows_ that Magnus doesn't exactly have a problem with money, it's still awkward.)

His coffee mug is left on the counter, probably empty, as Magnus strides towards Alec and slips the money into his open hand. It takes Alec a few seconds to realise that there seems to be more notes present than the previous day, too busy looking at the messy streaks of blue running through Magnus' hair, the dark smudges of eyeliner and the tired bags nestled under his eyes, tiny imperfections that make him all the more human.

He fidgets, busying himself with fumbling through the cash he's holding, and then frowns at Magnus.

"You can't give me this much," he moves to hand a twenty back, scowling further when Magnus simply twirls away from him, "I can't take this, Magnus."

"Consider it a _tip_ , my dear Alexander."

Magnus is unrelenting, his arms crossed against his chests and his face oddly serious. Alec doesn't understand.

"But I— I don't _do_ anything to warrant a tip."

Alec watches Magnus' expression soften slightly, his eyebrows upturned and his mouth etched into a gentle smile. He shakes his head and dismissively waves a hand, bracelets jingling with the motion.

"You do." He says, and then winks. "Regardless of all that, can I not just indulge and tip you because I want to?"

He turns back to where he previously left his coffee mug, pouring the remains down the sink and then putting the mug into the dishwasher, before spinning on his heel; a telling smirk on his face and a finger pointed accusingly at Alec as he opens his mouth to continue talking, and Alec simply rolls his eyes in amused preparation for what's to come.

"If you really _must_ have a reason for being tipped, I suppose I could settle for admitting that you're incredibly attractive."

The words don't really mean anything as much as they just make Alec laugh, involuntarily letting out a startled snort and then quickly covering his mouth as he fixes his grin back into his usual straight-faced expression.

"You're tipping me an extra twenty bucks because you think I'm _attractive_?" He tries to be serious, but his tone wavers and he starts to smile. "I'm pretty sure that's immoral, or unjust. It certainly speaks volumes for your priorities, Magnus."

Magnus chuckles then, shrugging comfortably and tapping one hand against the counter.

"My priorities are in _perfect_ order, thank you very much, Mr Lightwood."

He stalls for a second, blatantly pausing as if to mull over his next words, and only continues after a few long seconds.

"In all seriousness, you are _fully_ deserving of a tip. Most people would just sit around and do the very bare minimum, hardly even talk to the kid they're supposed to be looking after." Magnus gives a warm smile and a small nod. "I'm appreciative, Alexander. Don't doubt yourself."

Alec feels his heartbeat stutter at that, because hardly anyone has ever really told him he's deserving of something before. He's not entirely sure how to process such a genuine and serious compliment, so the well-known feeling of anxiety starts to thrum gently beneath his skin, and he tries his best to ignore it.

(That deep, clawing feeling of unknowing, the sickness that turns his stomach and the confusion that creeps its way up his chest, winding around his heart and tightening until he feels light headed, has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that Alec's brain has finally caught up on the conversation, and that he only now seems to have registered the information that Magnus Bane— _Magnus Bane_ of all people—thinks Alec Lightwood is attractive.)

He nods, almost shakily, hoping his nerves don't spill over and become evident in conversation. He has no reason to be weird about this. Magnus was just paying him a compliment, was all.

"Thank you," he offers, quieter than he'd have liked but sufficient enough, and then awkwardly puts the money in his pocket. _Finally_.

Magnus doesn't notice his weird fumbling or fidgeting, thankfully, and just nods contently.

"No, thank _you_. Are you still free tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. I'll be here."

Alec wants to laugh every time Magnus asks him if he's available, because he literally has _nothing_ else going on in his life. This part-time job has been the most exciting thing he's dedicated his time to in weeks— months, even. Alec really doesn't do much besides sit at home, watch TV, beat Simon at video-games, go to the gym with Jace, and occasionally go socialise when Izzy forces him to leave the sanctity of his bedroom. Spending his time looking after an incredibly well-behaved kid and getting paid to do so is one of the _best_ things he could possibly be doing right now.

Conversation apparently over, Alec decides to excuse himself with an idiotic _"right, well...",_ feeling himself blush slightly as Magnus laughs at his obvious awkwardness. Though Alec is consistently awkward and always saying the wrong things, and Magnus only ever grins or chuckles and shrugs it off as nothing; Jace and Izzy would mock him relentlessly whenever he does or says something foolish. They're both _terrible_.

Magnus walks him out, as he always does, and the two of them linger in the threshold of the doorway long enough to offer fleeting goodbyes, as they always do. It's become a part of the routine, oddly enough, and Alec is quite pleased with actually _having_ a routine in the first place, because he can't stand things being unplanned or ill-prepared or random; to be able to drive over to Magnus' place at a specific time every day, partake in the same usual calm activities with Madzie, and then go home in the same way he does every other time— it's refreshing. _Relaxing_.

He knows it won't stay like this, considering this is part-time and it's _babysitting_ and schedules are inevitably going to change to work around a child, but he supposes he just likes the stability of it all. The newfound sense of purpose he's discovered.

Alec drives home with the car radio playing softly and sometimes, _sometimes_ , finds himself singing along to it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading and feel free to hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/transtsukki), or [tumblr](https://tsukkikages.tumblr.com/), or something! say hey sometime <3


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